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B(,0k -^ — :- — 

PRESENTED BY 



AT HOME AND ABROAD; 



0to U $t{j a ^ 



BY 



MES. MANNERS, 



AUTHOR OF "PLEASURE AND PROI1T.' 



" Politeness, is to do and say, 
The kindest things in the kindest way. 



THIRD THOUSAND. 



NEW-YORK : 
JAMES S. DICKERSON, 69*7 BROADWAY. 

1855. 






.%** 



Entered according to the Act of Congress, in the year 1853, by 

K VANS AND BRIT TAN 

In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States, for the Southern District of 

New York. 






I&xthtt. 



If any apology be needed for the publication of a little 
book, which has, for its sole aim, the benefit of the young 
the author might reasonably plead the high degree of 
favour with which most of its chapters were received as 
they appeared in the pages of a popular Juvenile Maga- 
zine. At the earnest solicitation of many friends, the 
correctness of whose judgment is not to be called in ques- 
tion, a more convenient and permanent form is now given 
to those sketches ; and they are sent forth with the hope 
and the prayer that they may help to form the manners, 
and elevate the character of many, who are to be, in their 
turn, the guardians and teachers of a future generation of 
children. 

New Yokk, Oct. 1, 1853. 



CONTENTS. 

INTRODUCTION— Why we Should Learn to Behave, - 7 

i 
Behaviour at the Table, ------ ,-9 

Behavious at the Table— continued, 13 

The Careless Guest, --19 

Personal Habits, -___-25 

The Ill-bred Little Girls, --------30 

Behaviour in Church, ---------34 

True Politeness is Unselfishness, -------37 

Bad Habits peculiar to Boys, --------40 

Edward Acton, -----------45 

Fault-Findino, -------.---50 

About "Walking, ----------57 

Behaviour in the Street, --------- 62 

Proprieties op Dress, - - 65 

How to Choose and "Win Friends, --.-- = -69 

How to Entertain your Guests, -------73 

" Cut Behind," -----------78 

Anna Barton's Affectations, --------81 

"Harry" Hasty, ----------87 



CONTENTS. VI 

Selfishness, ---90 

Why Girls should be Treated with Eespect, ----- 94 

Proprieties in Traveling, --------97 

A Night in a Sea Steamer, -------- 101 

A Day on a Kail Road, --------- 105 

Observations During a Visit, -------- 109 

The Children's Visit to the Country, ------ 114 

The Unguarded Look, ---------121 

Is Work Degrading ?---------- 128 

What Edith did in the Country, ------ 135 

Curious Lucy, --- - - - - - - - 143 

Directions for Letter-Writing, ------ 151 

Directions for Letter-Writing — continued, - - - - -156 

Epistolary Experiences, 161 



%i Iflttu anlr %hxn)i+ 



WHY WE SHOULD LEARN TO BEHAVE. 



WHEN I was an infant school scholar — it is no matter 
how long ago, for what was true then is true now 
— I learned a rhyming definition of Politeness, which it 
would be well for young people and old to remember. 
It was this : — 

" Politeness is to do and say 
The kindest thing in the kindest way." 

It is a golden saying. It is indeed the u golden rule," 
whose beautiful spirit pervades all the teachings of our 
Saviour and his Apostles. It is the secret by which we 
are able to make all around us happy. It is the secret 
of much, indeed of most of the good done in the world ; and 
to do good, and to cause happiness, is the surest way of 
fulfilling the great end of our lives, which is " the glory 
of God." 

(7) 






8 



INTRODUCTION. 



The object of this little book is not simply to fit you, 
my young readers, for society ; not alone to teach what is 
necessary in order to become ladies and gentlemen, by 
which words I mean persons of refinement and ele- 
gant habits and manners ; it is to aid in the practice of 
that charity without which all gifts and graces profit 
nothing ; it is to aid in the great life-duty to " our neigh- 
bour ;" it is, in fine, to aid in carrying out Christ's Golden 
Kule :— 

" All things whatsoever you would that men should do to 
you, do ye even so to them." 

This is the great reason for learning to behave, for learn- 
ing true politeness — because Christ commands it ; and all 
his life, so divinely devoted to the good of others, en- 
forces it. He was the great teacher of Politeness, and 
he instructed us that it should come from our hearts, and 
thus overflow our lips and pervade our lives. 




CHAPTER I. 

BEHAVIOUK AT THE TABLE. 

THOSE people who are impolite are generally so be- 
cause they were not taught when young to check their 
own selfish inclinations, and to be thoughtful of the com- 
fort of those around them. No where is this selfishness, 
which is unfortunately so natural to us, more disagree- 
able than at the table. Display it in refined society, and 
you are at once pronounced a vulgar person. 

Besides this selfishness, there are bad habits which 
little people fall into from carelessness that are very an- 
noying to well-bred people. To avoid giving annoy- 
ance is one way of showing your kindliness, and desire 
to please and make happy. I will therefore give you 
some " hints" which most grown-up persons understand, 
but which children have to be taught either by precept 
ov example. 

Those who are truly well bred are always the same, 
whether there is any one to observe them or not. They 
do not keep manners for company, which is quite as 
great an evidence of vulgarity as no manners at all. 
Those of you who have had the advantage of good ex- 
amples before you all your lives, are not to be offended 

1* (9) 



10 AT HOME AND ABROAD; OR, 

because some of these rules have been always observed 
by you. I know many who err in these things, not will- 
ingly, but from ignorance ; and very few are perfect in that 
exact good breeding which renders one an agreeable 
companion at the table. 

There is a story told of one of the most distinguished 
men our country ever produced, and one whose death we 
are now mourning as a recent event, that when a youth 
lie was fitting for college in a certain town in New Eng- 
land, and boarding in the family of some ladies of refine- 
ment. They saw that their young guest was possessed 
of wonderful talents, and lamented that he was so very 
awkward that it would be likely to form a great draw- 
back to him in society. 

" Did you observe, sister, how clumsily he holds his 
knife and fork, always contriving to scatter and spill his 
food ? How shall we manage to show him better, and yet 
avoid hurting his feelings ?" 

Their nephew, whose father was a wealthy and elegant 
resident of one of the Southern cities, said at once : 

"Let me arrange it, aunt. I will hold my knife and 
fork awkwardly, but not just as he does, or he may think 
it is done to mortify him, and you can speak to me about it 
at the table, and show me how to manage them properly." 

Thus it was agreed upon to do ; and , who was 

never unobservant of anything said in his presence, learn- 
ed at once not only how to use his knife and fork, but 
many other little matters, from the instructions thus kindly 
given by the good ladies. They appreciated the disadvan- 



HOW TO BEHAVE. 11 

tage of unrefined table manners, and he, with his mighty 
intellect, which perhaps would have always excused any 
clumsiness in the eyes of the world, was thankful to them 
for hints on table etiquette. 

The first thing to be said, because the most disagree- 
able to observe in others, is this. Never go to the table 
with untidy clothes or disorderly hair ; and if you have un- 
fortunately done so, do not call attention to the fact by 
trying to arrange them after you are seated there. I hope 
you will always, though perhaps you are very young yet, 
have a clean face, clean hands, and neatly-trimmed finger- 
nails. You must be particularly careful in regard to your 
nails, for when long and dirty they are excessively dis- 
gusting ; and if you have been employed upon dirty work, 
it will take but a minute to remove the traces of it from 
your nails. Do this in your own room, or where you wash 
your hands, for it is ill-bred to do it before people, as 
washing your face would be, or arranging your dress or 
hair. 

Having taken your seat at the table, do not sit so far 
from it that there will be danger of dropping your food 
into your lap, but sufficiently nigh to incline your head 
over your plate, which should be near the edge of the 
table. Do not lean your arms on the table, or loll over it, 
but sit quietly and uprightly in your chair ; and if a bless- 
ing is besought, look reverently down or close your eyes 
till it is over. 

If you are served with soup at a strange table, do not 
refuse it, though you may not wish it, but take it and sip 



12 AT HOME AND ABKOAD ; OE, 

a little, or eat the bread which accompanies it, that you 
may not make your hostess feel uncomfortable, or dis- 
turb the order of the meal by putting her to the trouble 
of helping you to fish or meat before others are ready 
for it. 

When eating fish, use your fork and a piece of bread 
to separate it, and remove the bones ; it is just as easy to 
do, and it does not leave the strong fish taste and smell on 
the steel. Kemove the meat from all kinds of bones be- 
fore raising it to your mouth. 

If you are asked what you would like at the table, re- 
ply quickly and distinctly, and do not hesitate or change 
your mind, or say you "don't know;" all this takes tl^ 
time of others, and calls attention to your capricious ap- 
petite. Above all things, you are to avoid at the table, as 
elsewhere, singularity in tastes and habits, as this calls 
attention to you, and causes remarks, which is unpleasant. 

If you are served without being asked what you wish, 
it is not worth while usually to refuse anything ; you can 
lay it upon one side of your plate, and after a while ask 
for something you like better. 

If a choice of a part of a fowl be offered to you, say 
what you really prefer, unless you know another wishes 
it, and perceive there is not enough for both of you. 
Then kindness, or true politeness, requires that you shall 
not name it, but express a willingness to take any part. 



CHAPTER II. 

BEHAVIOUR AT THE TABLE, CONCLUDED. 

BEFORE I proceed with the rules and instructions I am 
giving you, I wish to relate a little anecdote, which 
enforces what I have said about singularity of taste, also 
about refusing the first course at a table. 

I was once iiwited, with a young friend, to a little en- 
tertainment given in the evening to a half a dozen select 
friends. The first course was oysters, which were served 
in various styles, and were most deliciously prepared in 
every way. The table was rendered as tempting as pos- 
sible by a profusion of silver and crystal, and the finest 
of snow-white linen. All the company were made so 
comfortable, were so well pleased with the entertainers 
and entertainment, that they were all smiles, and abound- 
ed in the clever and brilliant conversation for which many 
of them were distinguished. 

My young and inexperienced friend would not for the 
world have caused a shade to fall over one face in such a 
circle — but she erred thus, of course not considering how 
such a little thing would appear. 

(IS) 



14 AT HOME AND ABROAD; OR, 

" My dear, ' said the hostess, " will you have some of 
these stewed oysters?" 

"No, I thank you." 

" Perhaps you would prefer an oyster pate V 

" No, I thank you," she answered, getting very bashful, 
however. 

" Mr. ," said the lady, addressing her husband, 

"will you give Miss some of those broiled oysters?" 

" Thank you, Madam, I do not wish any oysters." 

" Well, have some butter to eat with your bread?" 

" I never eat butter, thank you." 

" What ! never eat butter ! What do you live on ?" 

" Perhaps she lives on observation," said a lady by the 
hostess, in a low voice. 

r It was an unkind and therefore impolite remark — but 
Miss Ella had provoked it by a Singularity of taste which 
inevitably annoyed the hostess, and made her feel that, with 
all her careful forethought, there was one guest whom 
she had failed to please. Can you not, little reader, see 
from this why we are to be observant and careful of the 
feelings of others in very small and apparently unimpor- 
tant matters ? 

I have seen young people use their own knife in help- 
ing themselves to butter, and their own fork in taking 
articles of food which had a fork laid by them for use. 
Those who would do this would be very likely to eat 
with their knives instead of forks or spoons ; the gravy, 
or whatever else was on it when it left your mouth, is now 
transferred to the butter, to the annoyance and probably 

I 



HOW TO BEHAVE. 15 

disgust of those who next take some. The same thing, 
may be said of putting your knife into the salt, or your 
spoon into the sugar. 

Do not butter your bread in mouthfuls at a time, or 
holding the slice off your plate in your hand; the plate 
is the proper place on which to prepare this, as everything 
else. 

When you wish to call servants, motion to them ; and if 
they do not understand you, speak in a low but distinct 
tone to them. In sending up your plate by them, place 
your knife and fork securely on it, unless there is a knife- 
rest near you and for your use. You would soil the table- 
cloth by laying them down on it, and to hold them in 
your hand is very awkward. 

Be careful in serving another from a dish near you, as 
you may often be required to do, not to strew what you 
are serving over the plate, but place it where it was 
evidently designed to go. 

Stir up gravies or sauces before serving them, and do 
not spill them on the cloth, or over the sides of the dishes 
containing them. If you are quiet, and careful, and do 
not allow yourself to get flurried in serving or eating, you 
may avoid all such awkward accidents as spilling coffee 
or water, or dropping your food, or your knife, fork, or 
spoon. 

If you have acquired the habit of drinking tea and 
coffee, do not pour them out into the saucer to cool : sau- 
cers were made to hold the cup ; they are not properly 
shaped for drinking. Never blow your tea, or coffee, or 



16 

any of your food ; it sends your breath into the faces of 
those near you. 

. When your cup has a handle, as is usual now, raise it 
by it; and in drinking, incline your head sufficiently to 
allow of the cup remaining over the saucer, or raise the 
saucer to it with the other hands 

/ Never drink or speak with anything in your mouth. 
Do not watch others while preparing their food, or eating 
or drinking, and do not look around while you have a cup 
or tumbler raised to your mouth. 

Be especially careful to make as little noise as possible with 
your lips, or teeth, or throat, while eating or drinking, or swal- 
lowing, particularly if eating an apple, or any thing hard. 
Observe if you now have this bad habit of careless eat- 
ing, and make a change for the better as soon as possible. 
I have often known persons of delicate appetite utterly 
unable to eat anything because they were seated near 
those who were ill-bred in this respect. 

Drink quickly and deliberately, that you may not spill, 
or choke, or sputter, and always wipe your mouth with 
the napkin immediately after. 

Do not break up your bread on the cloth more than 

j you can avoid, and do not make it up into little pellets, or 

i balls ; or drum on the table with your fingers while you 
are waiting for anything. 

Do not load your plate with what you do not want, or 
with much more than you can eat; when a rare dish is 
placed upon the table, do not show greediness by eating 
immoderately of it. Eemember that others may like it as 



HOW TO BEHAVE. 17 

well as yourself, and let their moderation be an example 
to you. Never eat greedily of anything, no matter how 
much you may like it, and have the discretion when you 
have eaten enough, to cease. It is very disgusting to hear 
people tell how many buckwheat cakes, or how many eggs I 
they can eat ; this looks very much like living only for the 
gratification of your animal nature, and places you on 
a level with brutes. 

Eat just enough while you are at the table to last till it 
is meal-time again ; then you have no need to carry any 
thing away with you, or to go to your mother, or to the 
housekeeper, for the keys to get something to eat "between 
meals." It is an unhealthy, as well as an ill-bred habit ; 
if you accustom yourselves to eating regularly and as 
much as you need at your meals, you will never have any I 
disposition to eat at other times. 

If you are at a strange table and the hostess urges you 
to partake of any particular dish, do so to* gratify her, 
even though you eat but little of it. You may thus learn 
to eat something you otherwise would not, and it is well ' 
to be able to make a meal of anything that is wholesome, 
both for your own comfort and that of others, who might 
be much annoyed if you said you could not eat what they 
had provided for you. Daintiness is almost as disagree- 
able a fault as greediness. 

When you ask for any thing, say, " I will thank you," 
or, " please hand" or "pass" or "serve me," or "I will 
take it, if you please." To refuse, say, "No, sir, I thank 
you," or "I am very well served, thank you." 



18 AT HOME AND ABROAD. 

Do not eat hurriedly, it is unhealthy ; for you cannot 
masticate your food properly, and it is also ungraceful. 
If you have guests, be careful not to finish before they 
do, as it might make them think they were eating too 
much or too long. 

Leave your napkin beside your plate, not in it, nor in 
your chair. Place your tumbler or cup and saucer near 
your plate, and lay your knife and fork upon it, side by 
side. Put your spoon in your cup. If you wish more 
tea, it is customary to signify it by putting the spoon into 
the saucer. 

When you leave the table before the family, it is a good 
custom to ask the lady of the house to excuse you. But 
where this is not required, look towards her with a slight 
inclination of the head, as you quietly move your chair. 

There is one more very essential thing to be said. Ob- 
serve, without appearing to do so, if any one near you 
seems to wish for anything to which you can assist them. 
To take care of yourself alone at the table, is unpardonably 
selfish. 




CHAPTER III. 

THE CARELESS GUEST. 

■ 

SAID Mr. Erskine one morning at the breakfast-table, 
" Carrie, I find John Hanson will be in town to- 
day, and he so seldom shows himself here, that I should 
like to bring him home to dinner with me, if you feel 
equal to the exertion of entertaining a guest." 

Mrs. Erskine was truly embarrassed ; she was very 
much of an invalid, and sat there supporting her head on 
her hand, and thinking she must lie down as soon as her 
husband had gone to his office. Now John Hanson was 
Mr. Erskine's cousin, his companion at school and col- 
lege, and perhaps he loved him more than any man 
living. Indeed, Mr. Hanson was worthy of much love, 
and of great respect. He had a large, unselfish heart, and 
had been of great assistance to Mr. Erskine in early life, 
when adversity had almost crushed out all ambition and 
all hope from his soul. There was no end to the self-de- 
nial which John Hanson could and did practise continual- 
ly to gain the means of doing good. Moreover, he was 
a ripe scholar, very profound in all his attainments, and gift- 
ed with a rare degree of literary taste. Could it be pos- 
sible that there was a reason why Mr. Erskine should 

(19) 



20 

hesitate before bringing borne such a friend, so good, up- 
right, wise and generous ? 

Yes, there was a reason, and Mrs. Erskine knew it, 
though she had never jet seen the gentleman. With all 
his refinement of soul, and with all his good heart, he 
lacked refinement of manner to a sad degree. His 
awkwardness, his mistakes, his carelessness of all rules 
of etiquette, were proverbial ; and Mrs. Erskine, besides 
{ being an invalid, was a person of great elegance of man- 
ner ; the two combining, gave her now a nervous fastidi 
ousness which was very mortifying and annoying to her, 
and which made her husband very careful in his manner 
towards her, and in his selection of guests. 

Still she was a sensible woman, and a good wife, and 
she did not hesitate long. 

tt Bring him home with you, by all means, Harry. If 
I cannot make myself agreeable to good, noble John 
Hanson, I am not worthy to be your wife." 

The husband appreciated the love which prompted her 
reply, and kissing her pale cheek as he left the house, he 
whispered, 

"You are worthy of ' a king in state,' dear wife. Take 
a glass of wine, as Dr. Lewis recommends, with your lunch- 
eon this morning, and make as much of that meal as pos- 
sible," he added significantly. 

Five o'clock in the afternoon was the dinner hour, and 
punctually as the dinner was served in that well-regulated 
household, the family, with their guest, took their seats at 
the table. Mrs. Erskine had given Mr. Hanson a cordial 



HOW TO BEHAVE. 21 

greeting, though her heart misgave her, as she coulcL^ut 
notice the coarse, untidy hand, surrounded by a soiled 
wristband, evidently unbuttoned, which grasped hers. 
She looked at his face for a relief from the disagreeable 
sensation ; and alas ! in the wide, smiling mouth, were teeth 
quite ignorant of the advantages of a tooth-brush, and 
discoloured by the free use of the cigar, and his head was 
almost " Medusean" with its wiry locks. Mr. Erskine ha$ 
politely offered him the use of a dressing-room and toilet 
apparatus, but Mr. Hanson said, " Oh, no, Harry, I have 
not been hoeing or digging ditches; there is no necessity 
for any such trouble." 

After pulling the table-cloth awry, and upsetting the 
chair next to him, in taking his seat, he commenced eat- 
ing his soup. "Ship," "ship," "sloop," "sloop," said every 
mouthful, to the amusement of Mrs. Erskine's little brother, 
James Gray, and to the annoyance of the lady herself. 
"While talking to Mr. Erskine, the careless guest let a 
large piece of bread drop into his plate of soup — this he 
removed in an absent-minded manner, and laid upon the 
elegant linen, saturated as it was with the rich soup. 

When the next course came, he ate his fish with his 
knife, and then thrust the knife into the butter. When 
eating roast beef he helped himself from the gravy-boat, 
suffering the spoon to spill its contents half across the 
table. The tomato sauce went over the butter and salt 
in the same manner ; particles of potatoes and a piece of 
the egg-plant were landed in the salt ; the vinegar cruet 
was overturned, but fortunately the attentive waiter pre- 



25s AT HOME AND ABROAD; OR, 

vented any damage from it. Not so with his glass of cla- 
ret, which he set down half on a piece of bread, and which, 
in spilling, made of course one of those ugly stains which 
it is so difficult to remove from linen. 

Mrs. Erskine could hardly repress a groan as an elegant 
dish of custard, heaped with the snowy foam, was placed 
on the table with the dessert, and she tried in vain to keep 
James from whispering to her, "More sloop, eh, sister!" 
After this, and various nice dishes in which her cook was 
skilled, came the fruit : the peaches were eaten without 
peeling, and over the table, having pushed his plate aside, 
of course there were streams of the juice, which he removed 
from his hands by the aid of the fine white napkin, quite 
regardless of the doily offered him by the servant. He 
dropped his fork, and poured out his coffee, served in tiny 
cups, as it was, to cool it ; he scattered water-melon seeds 
and crumbs of cheese on the floor when he arose from 
the table, and poor Mrs. Erskine tried hard to be smiling 
and polite, and to feel truly amiable towards him. She 
had not eaten anything herself save a small piece of bread; 
although she tried not to see — and any one who did not 
know her, would have supposed that all these awkward, dis- 
agreeable things were quite unnoticed by her, yet she had 
seen and heard all ; and to have eaten any dinner herself 
would have been a task she could not bring herself to. 

John Hanson talked well, even eloquently ; and if she 
could have listened without regard to her duties as lady 
of the house, and without caring to eat, Mrs. Erskine 
would have enjoyed his conversation. His letters were 



HOW TO BEHAVE. 23 

noble epistles, so sincere and manly, and elegantly written ; 
they always charmed her. So would his conversation 
have done, if she had not first seen him at table, and 
when she was under the influence of a nervous delicacy 
which shrunk from all he did with disgust. 

" Brother Harry," said James Gray, that evening, when 
the guest was gone, " why does Mr. Hanson eat so 
strangely ? I never saw such large mouthfuls go into a 
person's mouth ; and sometimes, when he tipped his knife 
in raising it, half of the load went into his lap or on the 
floor." 

" James, I thought you were too much of a gentleman 
to see such things," said Mrs. Erskine. 

" Oh, sister, I saw you shiver when he l slooped' in 
his soup and ' gulped' down glass after glass of water ; 
and Jacob had a hard time to keep from laughing at a 
great many things." 

" If Jacob had laughed he would have deserved to lose 
his place ; and if you observe a person with such unfortu- 
nate habits, James, you ought to be thankful that your 
mother and sisters have taught you better, and consider 
attentively whether you are quite perfect in table man- 
ners. Did I not hear you say ' yes' when Carrie offered 
you a piece of toast to-day — and did you not tell me 
1 No, I don't want any,' when I offered you the melon ? 
Did you not call Jacob with an expression of disgust on 
your face which was quite revolting, to take away your 
coffee, because ' you didn't drink flies' — one chancing, in 
spite of all Jacob's care of the dining-room, to ^alight 



24 AT HOME AND ABROAD. 

on the edge of the cup and lose his balance on the wrong 
side ? Did I not hear you say the other day that you 
could eat rice cakes as long as you sit up, and did I not 
see you take up a piece of cold meat that hot morning, 
and smell it, to be sure it was sweet ? You must be 
careful, James, that you are without sin, yourself, before 
you cast a stone at an offender." 

James was crimson with mortification. He was obser- 
vant of some rules of good breeding, and careless or 
ignorant of others. He could but acknowledge the truth 
of all his brother-in-law had said and he had the grace 
to reply,— 

" I beg pardon, Brother Harry ; I was very rude to 
observe and remark on those things. I knew Mr. Han- 
son was such a good man and so very clever, I was not 
prepared for such carelessness at the table." 

" It is a great disadvantage to John that he is so un- 
graceful," said Mr. Erskine, " but he is less in fault than 
you would suppose. He never had the opportunity of pro- 
fiting by female example or precept — his childhood was 
passed with an old nurse and a bachelor uncle, as eccentric 
as himself — his youth at school and college ; and his man- 
hood is blest with no sweet sunshine of woman's refining 
graces. He boards at a hotel, and seldom visits. So we 
can only lament his fault, and excuse him for what would 
be a thousand times more excusable in the brother or hus- 
band of Carrie Erskine." 



CHAPTER IV. 



PERSONAL HABITS. 



FflHE Chinese have a proverb like this. " You swidd 
JL never rub your eyes except with your elbows." This 
would be a very good rule applied to other features. Some 
little ill-bred children have a way of using their hands 
about their hair, or ears, or nose, which is very disagree- 
able. You will understand what I mean without my say- 
ing more upon the subject, for I doubt not many of vou 
have been cautioned not to do these very things. 

It is wonderful how unconscious a person is of such a 
habit, and how it will cling to him. I knew a lady who 
is now of middle age, and she still sucks her thumb when 
reading or studying — for she is even now a scholar, though 
a learned one. I knew a gentleman also, who never could 
break himself of a habit of biting his nails. He, too, is 
a literary man, and a close student. He will sit all day 
in his library, intent over a huge volume, and utterly for- 
getful of every thing around him, quite unconscious that 
there is an external world ; and when he joins his family, 
at the end of the day, his nails will be eaten off " to the 
quick," and really very painful. He has tried in many 

2 (2.) 



26 

ways' to overcome the habit — such as putting on them 
something which would taste disagreeably, or tying cloths 
around them, or wearing gloves. He is only conscious for 
the time of a great annoyance, and the moment it is re- 
moved he relapses into his old bad way. 

Sometimes people get a habit of spitting—which they 
do with much noise, as though it gave them an air of im- 
portance. The inhabitants of the United States are noto- 
rious for it. It accompanies the bad custom of smoking, 
or chewing tobacco — and it is one of the disagreeable and 
painful consequences of a bad cold, or of some diseases. 
That any one, not suffering from these causes, should allow 
such a habit to grow upon them, is very surprising. 

Again, I have met persons who suck the air through 
their teeth with a loud noise. This is done by such as 
have hollow and decayed teeth, and particles of food lodge 
in them, and trouble, or give them pain ; but they should 
find some way of removing the annoyance, without dis- 
turbing their neighbours with it. I have actually heard 
this done in company, and in church. 

Others are in the habit of removing with the tongue 

food which has lodged about the mouth, in the cheek, or 

under the tongue itself. Eating is so entirely a sensual, 

/animal gratification, that unless it is conducted with much 

' delicacy, it becomes unpleasant to others. To open the 

mouth wide, pick teeth at the table, or roll the tongue or 

the food about, is inexcusable, unless the napkin is used as 

a shield, which can be done in cases of great necessity. 

There is a second kind of personal habits to which I 



HOW TO BEHAVE. 27 

now call your attention. I mean that necessary care of 
the person or dress which is peculiar to the well-bred. 

Commencing with the hair. Can anything be more 
disgusting than this whenlFis neglected ? The hair was 
given to us as an ornament, and with many persons it is 
a great charm. But hardly one person in fifty uses the 
brush as much as neatness and elegance require. A good 
stiff brush is much more serviceable than an ivory comb. 
It keeps the hair in better order, and injures the head 
less. I have heard of some who regularly give their hair 
a hundred strokes of the brush every day. I would dare say 
such persons have glossy and handsome locks, which are 
always beautiful to look at. Neither water, nor oil, nor 
any of the various preparations in use as restoratives, are 
needed to make hair shine which is thus brushed. 

Be very careful not to allow your brush to remain wet, 
or to shut it up while wet in a close drawer ; and do not 
put much water upon your hair, especially in summer. I 
know some estimable people whose presence is anything 
but agreeable, simply because their neglected hair sur- 
rounds them with such an unpleasant odour. Perspiration 
of the head and feet, retained in the first instance by 
the hair, and in the other by the closely fitting shoe, soon 
becomes unbearable in very warm weather. You cannot, 
then, pay too great attention to cleanliness, for health's 
sake, and for your own comfort and that of your friends 

There is quite a foolish custom, which some indulge, of 
using perfumery ; unless perfumes are particularly choice, 
and all such are very expensive, they soon lose their plea- 



28 AT HOME AND ABROAD ; OK } 

sant odour, and become offensive. You can get pleasant 
perfumes for clothes and drawers, put up in silk bags or 
in paper, which are not liable to this objection. Of course 
every thing acquires from such only a subtle, delicate fra- 
grance, which can offend no one. 

Often in churches, or in crowded places of public as- 
semblage, when you crave every breath of fresh unpolluted 
air, a person near you will flourish a pocket handker- 
chief loaded with musk, that most nauseating of per- 
fumes, or combinations of scents, which render the air so 
offensive as sometimes to produce sickness, and fainting. 
Any one thus scented becomes a nuisance, and I would 
quickly avoid a person with whom such things were 
habitual. 

Make plentiful use of good soap, and you will be a 
much more welcome companion than if your garments 
are odorous of bad cologne. Indeed, this excessive use of 
perfumery is now generally confined to the vulgar, who 
are deficient in the good sense, or the good breeding, which 
should teach them better. 

The teeth should have, of right, much more time and 
care than is usually accorded to them. They positively 
require a careful cleansing three times a day ; certainly 
every morning and night, to preserve them from decay, 
and to keep the breath pure and inoffensive. Clean teeth 
all can have ; those who do not, violate propriety most 
sadly. A mouth exhibiting an unsightly row of black 
or yellow teeth will never tempt kisses, you may be 
very sure. 



HOW TO BEHAVE. 29 

Is there anything else to notice under the title of 
" personal faults?" Ah! yes. The hair may be evenly 
parted and smoothly brushed, the teeth may rival pearls 
in colour and purity, contrasting beautifully with the coral 
lips ; the atmosphere around you may be left unpolluted 
by vile perfumery, and yet your dress may be so much 
neglected, or so carelessly arranged, as to give great offence 
to the eye trained to neatness and order. A little girl 
who is slip-shod, or wears carelessly gartered stockings, 
or a boy with unblacked boots or shoes, is inexcusable. 
A hook off, a rent pinned up day after day, a soiled under 
garment, showing a skirt coming below the dress, or a 
stocking or glove needing mending, are sad indications 
of indolent carelessness in a girl. So do buttons un- 
fastened, and tumbled or soiled linen, speak against a 
boy. All these things are so many enemies to beauty 
and propriety. Avoid them, as you would be welcomed by 
your friends, or prove attractive to strangers. 




CHAPTER Y. 

THE ILL-BRED LITTLE GIRLS. 

I WAS once paying a visit to some friends who had oth- 
er guests besides myself staying with them. One of 
them, named Mrs. Armstrong, had a little girl about eight 
or nine years old, who annoyed our hostess very much by 
her ill-breeding. 

Whenever the ladies were receiving company in the 
drawing-room, Anna Armstrong was in the habit of coming 
into the room and standing before the guests, looking 
them in the face constantly, and getting into her possession 
their bags, fans or card-cases, which she amused herself 
with, by clasping and unclasping, opening and shutting 
them, to the great injury of the articles, soiling and tear- 
ing them very much. This disturbs a person exceedingly, 
for while they do not like to be impolite to the mother by 
reproving the child,- they dislike equally to see such ele- 
gant and costly articles ruined. 

Sometimes Anna would run in, when she heard a car- 
riage stop at the door, and, regardless of her torn and 
soiled apron, and dress, and pantalettes, or her rumpled 
hair, would stand up before the strangers or peep into the 

(30 N 



HOW TO BEHAVE. 31 

parlour. If refreshments were handed round, she followed 
the waiter with longing eyes, and would not be satisfied 
till she had " grabbed" at the cake or fruit, or, at least, had 
some given her. 

If a lady took her seat at the piano, Anna planted her- 
self close to her and scrutinized her face and dress, in a 
very unpleasant manner. Although she often forced Mrs- 
Escott to send her from the room, she would leave it very 
reluctantly, looking around and pouting, and returning at 
the first opportunity. 

Anna had an elder sister, named Maria, a rather clever, 
but very forward girl, of thirteen years. When she was 
dressed to go out with her mother, she showed as much 
vanity as a peacock. "She paraded before every large 
mirror in the house, and then seated herself with much 
complacency on the sofa, spreading out her skirts and 
practising " company manners," which were composed of a 
great many airs, mixed with a little politeness. 

I have heard her entertaining girls of her own age with 
the cost, very frequently exaggerated, of the various arti- 
cles of her own dress, and inquiring the prices of theirs. 

" Oh," said Lou Emerson, " I wish there never was such 

thing as money. Maria Armstrong has so much to say 
about it ; it seems to me very vulgar to have so much to 
say about the cost of things. I don't think any more of a 
dress because it cost a dollar a yard ; I like it for being 
pretty, or comfortable." 

'•Yes," replied Eleanor, her sister, to whom she was 
speaking. " I am convinced of one thing. Maria Arm- 



32 

strong must once have had very mean, cheap clothes, or 
the fact that those she wears now cost so much money 
would not be noticed by her. I am sure, when people 
have so much to say about money, that it is a new thing 
witn ; hem to have enough of it." 

" Well, people who have just grown rich are so vulgar," 
said Lou. 

" You are mistaken in that remark, my daughter," said 
Mrs. Emerson. " You should have said vulgar people are 
still more disagreeable when they become rich. Families 
often become wealthy who gain refinement by the new 
advantages at their command, or who had inherited re- 
finement, and thus give themselves no airs. Vulgarity 
will betray itself, under elegant as well as coarse attire. 
Sustained by the assurance of wealth, it becomes more ob- 
trusive and disgusting. But it is the offspring of no con- 
dition, and almost as frequently rides in a carriage as goes 
on foot." 

I must not omit to mention Maria's vanity in regard to 
her music : she does play very well for a Utile girl, but it 
seldom takes much of young people's music to satisfy 
older persons. Maria did not know this. When asked to 
play, she complied instantly, which is right ; but she con- 
tinued at the piano till all her listeners heartily repented 
having placed her there. 

In conversation she was very pert ; she answered with as- 
surance all kinds of questions, frequently interrupted the 
conversation of older persons, and laughed and talked very 
loudly. Her noisy and impertinent manners soon dis 



HOW TO BEHAVE. 33 

gusted all sensible people. She ordered her father and 
mother to do what she wished, and was continually saying, 
she intended u to make papa carry her to Savannah," &c. 

The mother of these girls was a weak woman, as you 
may judge. When first married she had to practise much 
self-denial, and to assume a large share of the labour of 
the household. Being rather delicate in appearance, she 
soon grew to consider herself a great invalid, when Mr. 
Armstrong's purse allowed of indulgence in such an ex- 
pensive whim. The greatest evidence of her lack of breed- 
ing was shown in the delight she took in detailing to those 
around her the peculiar symptoms of her illness. Trifling 
as they might be, they were minutely given, and it was 
no matter how indelicate or unpleasant they were. She 
also repeated, in minute particulars, every case of sickness 
that had ever occurred in her house, from Maria's scarlet 
fever to Anne's measles, from their convulsions when 
teething, to her husband's present affliction of boils. 

Mr. Armstrong was in business connection with Mr. 
Escott, and Mrs. Escott had politely invited the family to 
her house when they came to the city. She sincerely re- 
pented doing so, and takes the case as a warning when 
tempted now to similar hospitalities. 




CHAPTER VI. 

BEHAVIOUR IN CHURCH. 

ONE Sabbath, while at-church, I was very much annoy- 
ed by the unruly conduct of some children who oc- 
cupied a pew in front of me. There was a little boy 
about four years old, and two girls, of seven and nine 
years ; they were pretty, well-dressed children, and their 
pleasant faces at first won my admiration, for I dearly 
love all good children. By and by, Charlie grew very 
restless : he pulled Jane's handkerchief away from her, 
and put it up to his face, resting his arm on his mother's 
hymn-book, and pretending to go to sleep; so in a mo- 
ment his little head was bobbing this way and that, as he 
had seen grown people's heads when they were so unfor- 
tunate as to fall asleep in church. Jane was quite angry 
at first, because her handkerchief was gone, and was 
just about to give Master Charlie a good pinch; but he 
looked so funny with his eyes shut, while his rosy little 
mouth was dimpling with smiles, and his fat cheeks, pok- 
3d out by the handkerchief, shaking, as his head popped 
about, that Jane began to laugh ; then Ella laughed, and 
then Mrs. Ogden turned round and saw all that was go- 



HOW TO BEHAVE. 35 

She put mischievous little Charlie on the other side of 
her, and for a few moments all was quiet. But Charlie 
had gotten his mother's pencil out of her bag, and was 
busy in making all kinds of figures in the hymn-book, 
and when the leaf got to looking very badly, he tore it out 
with considerable noise. Again Mrs. Ogden interfered 
and took away the book. 

Just at this time Ella yawned aloud, and Jane com- 
menced kicking her heels against the seat. I really piti- 
ed poor Mrs. Ogden. I found it almost impossible to fix 
my mind on the sermon, and I was sure she must find it 
quite impossible to attend to it. Finally, Charlie went to 
sleep, and his mother put his head in her lap ; then Ella 
fell asleep and Jane considerately stopped kicking, and let 
Ella's head rest on her shoulder ; but now the sermon was 
almost finished, and when it was done, and the congrega- 
tion arose to sing, both children awoke, Charlie cross and 
Ella stupid. I thought again, "poor Mrs. Ogden !" 

I have a few words to add to little children w T ho go to 
church. Do you ever think when Sunday comes, and you 
go up to the house of God, that you go there to offer 
praise and prayer to the Heavenly Father who gives you 
every good thing which makes your home happy and your 
life pleasant ? Do you remember that God sees you when 
you are playing and trifling in His house and in His pre- 
sence ? If you cannot understand the minister very well, 
listen the more attentively ; you will be sure to under- 
stand some things he says, and you can remember others 
to ask your parents about when you get home. You will 



ot> AT HOME AND ABROAD. 

find that you will get too much interested to go to sleep, 
and will learn to be very careful how you disturb the de- 
votions of others. Now here are a few rules, easily re- 
membered. 

Do not whisper, or laugh, or yawn aloud. 

Make no unnecessary noise moving your feet, blowing your 
nose, or coughing. 

Try not to go to sleep. Do not eat anything in church. 
Do not gaze about in prayer-time. Do not read your Sunday 
School boohs. Bo not try to learn your Sunday School les- 
sons. Do not read in the Hymn-booh or Prayer -booh. Do 






CHAPTER VII. 

TRUE POLITENESS IS UNSELFISHNESS. 

IT is often forgotten by young people that there is just 
as much reason for politeness and disinterested kind- 
ness at home as abroad. Those immediately about you, 
with whom you associate every day, are most dependent 
upon you for happiness ; and kind and loving words, con- 
siderate and gentle services, go a great ways towards 
making happiness. If your hearts are loving, you can 
hardly fail to be polite. But if you cherish selfish, un- 
grateful, churlish feelings, you will find it very difficult, 
indeed I may say impossible, to pass for a lady or a gentle- 
man. The first thing you are to do, when you are con- 
sidering an improvement in your manners, is to look into 
your hearts, and see that all is right there. Remember 
that Golden Rule, which is the fountain-head of true 
politeness. 

Let me now suggest one or two instances in which the 
difference is most manifest between a selfish, and an un- 
selfish or truly polite child. 

It is quite cold weather, and two or three children are 
seated by a cheerful fire. I will call them James, Ellen, 
and Mary. James is reading, Ellen has a lap full of 

(37) 



strips of paper, and is busy making up lamp-lighters ; Mary 
is kicking her feet against Ellen's chair, and jogging her 
elbow, now and then, just as she is starting a roll of paper, 
when it is desirable her hand should be steady. Now 
Mary is a sweet name, I think, a sweet Scripture name, 
and I always look for a good child when I hear one called 
by it. We shall see if Mary Eeese deserves to bear 
that name. 

It is supper-time, and Mr. Eeese and Eobert, who is his 
eldest son, and assists him in his store, have come home. 
James silently rises and takes a little stool by the table, 
where he can go on with his book, and his father, as he 
takes James's chair by the warm fire, says — 

" Thank you, my dear boy; will you not be cold so far 
off from the fire ?" 

See what a pleasant and loving word James's politeness 
won for him from his father, who knew how to encourage 
children in such unselfish acts- ! 

" Oh no ! I am warm, papa, and can see better here." 

Now this was quite true, but he could not feel the 
pleasant glow of the fire at all; and he said this that his 
father might not think he had deprived him of any com- 
fort, which feeling would take away from his satisfaction, 
as he enjoyed the warm seat. 

Mary had a good place next the fire, in the warmest 
corner; and when she saw Eobert looking so cold and 
uncomfortable, his hands quite stiff, and his nose red and 
looking altogether as if the fire would be most agreeable 
to him, it was supposed she would do for him as she would 



HOW TO BEHAVE. 39 

have wanted him to do for her ; that is, that she would 
have jumped up and said — 

" Take this seat, brother ; it is a very warm one, and 
}'ou look quite frozen." 

No, selfish little Mary Reese did no such thing. She 
even pretended not to see that Robert wanted to come 
near the fire, nor would she draw her chair an inch nearer 
to the wall, that he might put another in between Ellen 
and herself. Ellen acted very differently ; she looked up 
and encountered Robert's wistful eye, for all this happened 
in much less time than I can tell it, and almost before 
Robert could speak, she had gathered in one mass the 
papers and lamp-lighters, regardless of crushing the latter 
in her haste, and said — 

" Here, brother Robert, is a nice warm place ! How cold 
you are ! You must have had a hard walk from the store 
to-night, and the wind right in your face all the way. Poor 
blue hands, .how cold they are too ! let me rub them in my 
warm ones." 

Do you wonder " brother Robert" took the little girl 
upon his knee and kissed her, and called her " darling little 
Nell" — and that when he took from his pocket two rosy- 
cheeked apples, he gave the largest and fairest to the 
good sister ? 

By and by, Mary Reese may acquire a certain ease and 
grace or dignity of manners, which, with the aid o*" good 
taste in dress, and in points of etiquette, will enable her 
to appear well in society. Bus Ellen will always be the 
true lady, the " gentlewoman^ as the old phrase was. 



CHAPTER VIII 

BAD HABITS PECULIAR TO BOYS. 

66 11 iTY boys are very loveable till they outgrow baby- 
^_tJL hood, and begin to show themselves to be boys, 
coarse, ungainly, and unloving. I wish they could go with 
one bound from three years old to twenty-one," said the 
mother of a pleasant family of four or five children, one 
day, in my hearing. 

" What is the reason," asked a young sister of the lady, 
" that they must be such disagreeable little items of human 
life ? Fan and Josie are always my darlings, and I am 
glad to see them at any time, and any where ; but Bob, and 
Harry, and Ned are perfect torments. They annoy me and 
mortify me. and half the time disgust me. Yet when they 
were little, I loved them just as well as I did the girls." 

These are not unusual remarks, and I pondered in my 
own mind the reason for such continual complaints against 
boys. I had often thought the same thing now expressed 
by these ladies, that little girls were much pleasanter com- 
panions than little boys ; and why was it that there must 
be a period in the lives of boys when they should be 
spoken of as " disagreeable cubs ?" Why is a gentle, 
polite boy such a rarity ? 

(40) 



HOW TO BEHAVE. 41 

The Kev. Sydney Smith said boys were not born boyish 
in tastes, or girls girlish, but that their tastes and habits 
are exclusively the result of association and education. 
I do not quite believe this theory, but I do believe that 
parents and older sisters and teachers are very much to 
blame, as well as the children- ..themselves, that boys aid 
less polite and well-bred than girls. The latter are con- 
stantly told to learn to do this and to avoid doing that, 
that they may become lady-like, polished, agreeable, etc. 
" We do not expect such politeness from boys. Many 
things may be done by a gentleman which would be in- 
excusable in a lady," is a common remark. 

I beg pardon, my good friend. We should expect polite- 
ness from boys, and very few are the things which are not 
elegant and polite that gentlemen may do, and not ladies. 

I have, therefore, something which I wish particularly 
to say to boys. If your parents are willing for you to be 
the " Goths and Yandals" of society, I shall protest against 
it. You have been outlaws long enough, and now I beg 
you will observe the rules, and take a lesson from the hints 
given you. 

Do you remember that the habits which you acquire 
now, will cling to you when you become men? I have 
seen you standing with your hands in the pockets of your 
trowsers and your elbows thrown out "at right angles," 
as people usually say, making a most ungraceful picture. 
I suppose you are thinking, when you think at all about 
such things, that you intend to be a gentleman some day. 
You certainly would be angry to hear yourselves called 



42 

ud mannerly and ill-bred. Kemember what I say, that 
you are forming habits that will mortify you when you 
wish to be considered a gentleman, as they mortify your, 
friends now. 

This way of thrusting out your elbows when your hands 
are in your pockets, tends to make you high-shouldered, 
and disorders your dress ' it is awkward and clownish. 

You sit down to talk to your mother and sisters as if 
it were the only position in which you found yourself com- 
fortable ; you lean back in the chair, and cross your foot 
over your knee, bringing it to a level with Mary's face, as 
she sits by your mother on her low stool. You do not 
consider where you have been stepping, whether in mud 
or in filth, or that, perhaps, the shoe has been unblacked 
for several days, and a soiled sock is slipping down to it 
over your ankle. No lady likes to see a gentleman sit 
thus in her presence. She keeps her own smaller and 
more delicately clad foot out of your way. Be equally 
polite to her. 

When you came into the room it was with your hat on, 
and you spoke to your mother without removing it. It 
is considered rude and disrespectful to keep the hat on 
in the presence of ladies. Do you not consider your 
mother a lady ? and has she not, as your mother, a still 
higher claim upon you for polite attention ? A true 
gentleman is most particularly polite at home, to his 
mother and sisters. 

The streets were very muddy, and you ran splashing 
through them ; therefore, when you came into the house 



HOW TO BEHAVE. 43 

you left your "mark" on the steps, and on the hall car- 
pet; gentlemen are very careful not to soil their highly 
polished boots, and are very particular about wiping the 
soles of them clean on the door-mat. 

Yesterday you were heard to say to your little sister, 
" Mary, you must not use such words. You are a girl. / 
Boys can say { by jingo.' " 

There are two objections to such expressions as this. 
They are coarse and vulgar, and they tend to profanity. 
Gentlemen do not use slang words, because it is a vulgar 
habit ; and they do not swear, because it is both vulgar 
and wicked. Therefore you have no more right to say 
" by jingo" than Mary has. 

" / don't care about my finger-nails. I'm a boy, and j 
nobody looks at my hands. It's too much trouble to 
use a nail-brush, and/wss over them as mamma and Mary 
do, and it's a great deal too much trouble to clean them 
with a knife." 

" Nobody looks at your hands," because boys so no- 
toriously have begrimed fingers and dirty nails, and every 
one avoids the sight of such objects as much as possible. 

This morning your mother said, " Come, my son, and 
let me part your hair neatly, and tie the ribbon in your 
collar;" and you said — 

"Oh, what's the use? The boys '11 call me 'dandy,' 
and l band-box,' and ' Tom Apronstring,' and all that, as 
they do Cousin Horace." 

I saw " Cousin Horace" come in with you this morning, 
and you called out " By hokey, ain't it cold, though 1" 



44 AT HOME AND ABROAD. 

without speaking to your aunt, who was in the room. But 
your Cousin Horace made such a contrast to you : his 
dress was quite neat, and his handsome hair was well 
brushed ; his coarse shoes were blacked till you could see 
your face in them, though he has to do them himself; his 
collar was smooth, and carefully tied; his finger-nails 
were neatly trimmed, and it was a pleasure to your 
mother to shake hands with him when she said, "Good 
morning, my dear Horace," in return for his " Good 
morning, Aunt." 

I admire Horace. He studies hard ; but he plays very 
heartily too, as you well know ; he is no "girl-boy," after 
all. His handsome, well-kept hair, ruddy cheeks, bright 
eyes, and the white teeth his pleasant smile discloses, are 
all charming. 

Which is nearest to . being a gentleman, Horace or 
you? 




CHAPTER IX. 

EDWARD ACTON. 

AS I was sitting by my window, at a table, which over- 
looked a large piazza in front of the building, my at- 
tention was arrested by a group of boys who were very full 
of sport and jests.. One of them,, a lad of perhaps fourteen 
years, but tall and manly in appearance, quite took the 
lead in any thing they undertook to do. I was amused 
and pleased by his expertness, his ready wit, and his ex- 
cellence in all their exercises. But his manner sometimes 
grieved me ; he was very authoritative, and not sufficient- 
ly considerate of those who were less strong or less agile 
than himself. 

By and by a carriage drew up before the house. He 
glanced towards it, and seeing, when the door was opened, 
that it contained ladies — and one of them an aged lady — 
he sprang towards it, and offered his assistance as they 
alighted. He was careful to protect their dresses from 
contact with the muddy wheels, and he placed himself in 
such a position, that the old lady could lean on him as she 
descended the steps. He then led her up the steps of the 
house and rung the bell for them, waiting until they were 

(45) 



46 

shown in. This attention to ladies, and particularly to 
the aged, touched me the more, that his companions were 
impatient at this interruption of their pleasures. 

"Let the old woman take care of herself," said one. 

" I reckon, Ned must be a lady's man," said another. 

"What's the use?" said a third, as he joined them 
again — "I don't see the use of your doing that ; a servant 
might have done it just as well — and you don't make 
any thing by it. Why, old Mrs. Ellis wouldn't take the 
trouble to thank you." 

"Do you suppose I did it to be thanked?" Ned said, 
indignantly — " a man is no gentleman who is not polite 
to ladies, and how can we learn to be polite if we do not 
begin when we are boys ? If my mother was getting out 
of a carriage, I would help her as much as possible ; and if 
I was not there and another person assisted her, then or at 
any other time, I should be much obliged to them, and 
would like them for it, and so would she, and so would 
Jane and Ellen. I am sure I was much better employed 
than I should have been standing here and making re- 
marks about them ; and laughing because Miss Sophie, 
who got out of the carriage before I could reach her, first 
caught her dress up so that it showed her ankles, and then 
drew it across the wheel, almost spoiling it with mud. It 
is true, she was very awkward, but she might well be, 
with so many great boys staring at her ; and if she al- 
ways is so, that is none of our business. Mother says we 
owe too much to women, all our lives long, to see any 
thing in them but their good qualities and their graces." 



HOW TO BEHAVE. 47 

"Hear him ! hear him !" shouted the boys. " He talks 
like a preacher." 

Here they began to disperse, for the bell of the Acade- 
my rang for school. I had recognized in the gallant little 
fellow the son of a lady of my acquaintance, and I deter- 
mined to watch him more closely and see if his politeness 
to ladies, so unlike his manner to his mates, had all been 
taught him by a good mother — who had not yet been 
able to conquer his naturally haughty disposition in other 
things. 

Soon after this, I went to Mrs. Acton's to pass the day. 
When I entered the parlour where the family were usual- 
ly assembled, I was received by my friends with much 
cordiality, and without waiting to be told, Edward, who 
was in the room, placed a chair for me near an airy win- 
dow, and laid a fan by it. Then he went to a door and 
said to a servant : 

" Minty, bring Mrs. Manners a glass of cold water.'" 

All this was done very quietly and very easily — there 
was no affectation of politeness ; no display of gallantry ; 
but it seemed his habitual manner towards his mother's 
lady visitors. His sister Jane was opening a skein of 
worsted; he observed it, and said — "I will hold it for 
} 7 ou, sister," and he did hold it well — not teasing her by 
tangling it, or by slipping the threads off too fast. 

When Ellen Acton came into the room she had a sealed 
letter in her hand, which she wanted him to take to the 
office. He could do it before he went to school; still it 
was quite a long walk to the office — and if he went there 



48 

he would have no time for play before school. Besides, 
he would have to go alone ; for at this hour the boys were 
all at the play-ground. 

Of course Edward thought of all these things, for he 
was just saying he believed he would go oat and have 
"some fan," as boys say, before the two o'clock bell rang. 
But when he saw the letter in Ellen's hand he sprang for- 
ward, saying: 

"Do you want it put in the office? " 

" Yes, my dear Ned, though I dislike to send you with 
it just now, when " 

"0, no matter, sister Ellen, I can play after school and 
then again to-morrow, and every day this week if I want 
to ; and mother says, running to the post-office is just as 
good exercise as any thing else. Besides, Ellen, didn't 
you sit up late last night sewing for me, because I took a 
notion to want this cravat to wear to-day ?" 

So the boy took the letter, and saying, " Good afternoon, 
ladies," he was off like an arrow. 

That evening, when Jane and Ellen played a duet for 
me, Edward stood behind them and turned, over the leaves 
of the music as politely as possible. He assisted his mo- 
ther in placing her arm-chair by the window and put a 
stool under her feet, and then he went into the back par- 
lour and studied until I arose to take leave. He would 
not hear of my going home accompanied only by the ser- 
vant, but said he should like the walk and the run back, 
and begged to be allowed to go. When we were in the 
street I asked him if he did not sometimes think it was 



HOW TO BEHAVE. 49 

very troublesome to have to wait upon ladies so much. 
" Your mother and sisters have it in their power to do 
much for you in return, but you have often to pay atten- 
tions where }^ou are scarcely thanked for it, though they 
may have been almost necessary civilities." 

" I do not think I am naturally very polite," he replied, 
" but mother has always tried to teach me to observe and 
do all I can for the comfort of my sisters, and so it is easy 
to attend to the wants of other ladies. I feel much happier 
for it, even if it has been at the expense of a little ease or 
enjoyment. It is the place of a man, or a boy either, to be 
gallant to the ladies, and to consider himself well rewarded by 
a smile and a kind word from them, in return." He said this 
in a very proud, manly tone. " I sometimes forget my- 
self when with the boys, and am rude and disagreeable, 
but a woman always makes me think of mother or the 
girls ; and for the sake of those who are so gentle and good 
to me, I would wish to be polite to all their sex." 

Little readers, is there not a lesson taught here to bro- 
thers and sisters? Good sisters make good brothers, and 
good brothers are very apt to make polite and polished gentle- 
men. Thus was Edward Acton, a boy of naturally rude 
and unpleasant manners, being trained to gentleness and 
a polite consideration for others. In time, I doubt not, 
he will be as polite to his mates as he is now to the ladies. 

3 



CHAPTEE X. 



FAULT-FINDING 



HAVE you ever observed how much some people are 
given to finding fault ? and how such people are 
always accounted very unpleasant, and have very few 
friends ? I know children who find fault with their clothes, 
with the rules their parents or teachers make for their 
observance, with the food provided for them, and even 
with the weather, which is always too hot, or too cold, or 
too wet, or too dusty. I remember, when I was twelve 
years old, I was beginning to think, because I studied 
quite faithfully, and was always punctual, that I was a 
very meritorious girl, and deserved to be very much liked 
by my teachers. I saw that Annie Chadwick received 
more approbation from her teachers than I ever received, 
and I wondered why it should be so. I grew jealous of 
her, and refused to acknowledge even her evident merits. 
She was never as perfect in her lessons as I was — she 
could not comprehend so easily any instructions given to 
her — she did not seem to be any " better behaved," but yet 
Annie was decidedly the favourite, as far as the teachers 
could suffer favouritism. One day I asked Miss Merrit 

(50) 






HOW TO BEHAVE. 51 

why this should be so. Her reply was a very impressive 
one, and taught me a lesson I have always remembered. 

"Annie never complains or finds fault with any thing 
about her. She is always cheerful and contented. Last 
winter, when the weather was very cold, and the girls 
hovered shiveringly around the fire, Annie would quietly 
keep her seat till there was room enough to approach the 
fire without crowding others. No matter how cold it was, 
or how uncomfortable the room became, she always look- 
ed pleasant, and tried all she could to warm and brighten 
it with her beautiful smiles. Indeed, she never looked as 
blue and cold as the others. Her heart was really warmer, 
and the weather affected her less. 

"During all the excessively warm weather of this sum- 
mer, Annie has never once said — ' Oh, how hot it is I' ' I 
could not learn any lessons last night — it was so hot.' ' I 
couldn't get here any earlier ; it was so hot, I couldn't walk 
fast.' If the sun troubles her at her desk, she quietly asks 
if she may close the blinds ; if a noisy, unpleasant child sits 
near her, she tries by example and gentle precept to teach 
it better. 

"When she was sick, she was patient and uncomplaining, 
and her mother says she was never known to find a word 
of fault with her food, if hot or cold, or badly cooked, or 
even if there was not enough of it. So with her dress. 
Her parents cannot afford her as nice dresses and bonnets 
as you and others wear, but she never appears to know 
that she is less well-dressed than her associates. See how 
much love she wins, and how much happiness she creates, 



52 

simply because she is not discontented, but has a cheer- 
ful, sunshiny temper. What do you think about it, 
Neelie ?" 

There is something else to be said about fault-finding. 
There are some people who seem always looking out for 
faults and imperfections in those around them. If they 
are parents and teachers, or elder brothers and sisters, or 
any person placed in a superior and authority-giving posi- 
tion, they of course have a right to say what is not well 
done, and they have also the right to say how a thing- 
should be done. But there is a proper and pleasant way 
of doing this, and a way of doing it which only creates bad 
feeling, and gives no incitement to try and do better. 

I know an elder sister, whose authority is recognized by 
her brothers and sisters as hardly second to that of their 
parents, for she is so wise and tender, and they all feel it. 
If little Jeannie forgets any thing that Eleanor has re- 
quested her to do — and the child is not usually forgetful — 
the good sister says — 

" Never mind this time, Jeannie, but be very careful not 
to forget again. You see how much trouble mamma had, 
because you forgot about it, and she could not think be- 
forehand that it might not be done, for she knows you are 
so very thoughtful and attentive usually." 

This does much more good than a scolding could. The 
little girl is grateful to Eleanor for not blaming her 
harshly ; she thinks sadly of dear mamma's trouble, and 
she is gratified that she is considered "thoughtful and 
attentive usually." So she resolves to herself that she will 



HOW TO BEHAVE. 53 

never vex Eleanor or trouble mamma again, but will still 
try to deserve the good opinion she had previously won. 

Arthur Holbrook was spending his vacation at home, and 
he offered to teach Lucy and Julia drawing and painting 
during the six weeks he should be with them, as he was 
a remarkable proficient in the art. They had been taking 
lessons of Prof. Anson, but he was a severe master. He 
never looked at what they had done, but he saw in a mo- 
ment every irregular or wrong line or tint, and he saw 
nothing else. If they ever did any thing well, he did not 
commend it, but left them to infer it, if they chose, because 
he found no especial fault with it. Lucy was very timid, 
and she had grown quite discouraged. Now Arthur 
would give them lessons, " how delightful it would be I" 

Like Prof. Anson, Arthur saw the lack of perfection in 
what they painted or drew, but of course he expected it ; 
he knew they were only learners, not masters, of the art. 
So he sought out the good points of their pictures, told 
them when they were successful, commended every thing- 
worthy of commendation, and then suggested the neces- 
sary improvements where they were needed. The girls 
returned to their tasks with fresh ardour, stimulated by the 
judicious praise and the hope of final success. Thus they 
learned more in a month with Arthur, than in a whole 
term with the Professor. So much for " finding fault" 
properly. 

Young people though you are now, you will probably 
have at some future day the charge of a household, and 
the direction of one or many servants. 



54 

"How do you manage with your servants?" said one 
lady to another. ''You. never scold, you seldom seem 
worried with them, yet they, are always busy ; your house 
is neat, your meals regular and well served ; your ser- 
vants seem so mu?h attached to you. What is the 
secret ?" 

"I have no secret^ was the reply. "I have only my 
own way of managing. I always praise them when they 
have done unusually well, I always notice any attempt 
to specially please me, no matter if it be ever so slight a 
thing, or even if they have failed in the attempt, I let 
them see that I appreciate their faithfulness and good 
will ; and I give them in return thanks, which are worth 
to them a thousand times more than they cost me, and 
the kindness and consideration which they deserve. 

" I can pay them with money for their actual labor, 
but I can only pay in kindness and consideration for the 
same qualities displayed towards myself." 

"Jane was such a suspicious, jealous girl. She was a 
good cook, Mrs. Elphinstone used to say, but so angry at 
any interference. Yet you seem to have no trouble with 
her." 

" I soon found out that Jane could not bear to be 
watched. She was honest and faithful, and she was in- 
deed angry if suspected of anything else. So I observe 
without seeming to observe, and make, as a casual re- 
mark, in a general way, any suggestions which I wish to 
have adopted. Jane feels flattered that I have a suf- 
ficiently good opinion of her to make such remarks to 



HOW TO BEHAVE. 00 

her, and acts readily as I wish she should. If her pastry 
is not well made, I happen into the kitchen the next time 
she has any to make, and remark, that she keeps it neat 
and cool, and then sa}^, 

" The range must be out of order, Jarre ; I thought 
those last pies hardly as well baked as usual ; you must 
not spoil } T our light, elegant crusts hy poor baking." . 

She takes the hint, attends to the baking, and all is 
right. 

" They wait upon your children cheerfully They 
never seem to consider them troublesome." 

" I am very careful to teach my children to make as 
little unnecessary trouble as possible. I never allow them 
to speak sharply or impertinently to them. They are ser- 
vants who have good, respectable characters, who conduct 
themselves well, who are humble and faithful to us ; they 
deserve respect and politeness from the children, and I in- 
sist upon their receiving it. Margaret always says ' Yes, 
Sir,' and 'If j t ou please,' to my little four years old boy, 
and he must be polite to her in return." 

" Ah, you have uncommonly good servants, Mrs. Page; 
they appreciate good treatment." 

" Proper care on the part of the family, will make l un- 
commonly good servants.' It is a simple thing to do, to 
avoid finding fault as much as possible, and to commend 
whenever you can. They are thus pleased with them- 
selves, and anxious to please me and keep up my good 
opinion of them. I once went away from home, and was 
absent four weeks. The sole charge of the house — for 



56 AT HOME AND ABROAD. 

none of the family were at home — fell upon my cook, a 
woman of violent temper, though very skilful, and of 
questionable honesty. I said to her, ' Theresa, I entrust 
these keys to you ; you will have no occasion to open 
the china-closet or the store-room, but I give the keys to 
you, because I think you will be faithful in my absence, 
and show yourself worthy of such responsibility.' She 
was faithful, indeed. The trust flattered her, and she 
was too proud of it to betray it." 

" So you ' find fault 7 by commending the opposite vir- 
tue. Oh, you are a wise woman." So she was, young 
reader. 




CHAPTEE XL 



ABOUT WALKING 



WHEN the high, winds which prevail in the spring 
abate, and the warm sunshine comes wooingly in 
at the windows, I am often tempted to put on my bonnet 
and a light mantle, and go out for a walk. As I pass from 
the shelter of the lofty trees which surround my house, I 
enter upon a broad, level street, where, in the afternoon, a 
great many ladies are in the habit of walking, making 
the place a favourite promenade for both ladies and gentle- 
men. While walking slowly along one day, it occurred to 
■Tie, as I observed those about me, how very seldom we 
see a person who walks well. I refer now chiefly to 
ladies, though not one gentleman in ten " carries himself," 
as the expression is, like a gentleman. 

Let me, for a moment, call the attention of the boys, who 
are hoping ere long to be young gentlemen, to a few faults 
I observed in their sex, and then I will direct my remarks 
to the girls exclusively. 

Quite near me walked two very estimable men ; I chanced 
to know them both. One stooped very much, and his 
shoulders were rounded like a hoop, his coat, necessarily, 

3* (57) 



58 AT HOME AND ABROAD OR, 

was fall of wrinkles, and there was so little breadth, be- 
tween his shoulders, and his chest was so sunken, that his 
appearance was anything but manly. It was worse than 
unmanly — it indicated a tendency to disease, doubtless 
brought on by the wretched way he had of standing and 
walking. The other gentleman stood rather more erect, 
and his shoulders were broader, but they were very high, 
and he had a habit of shrugging them up till his coat col- 
lar was as high as his ears half the time. He had also an 
awkward way of moving his elbows, so that his friends 
used laughingly to remark, " he walked with his elbows." 
One " turned in' 1 his toes pigeon-like, and both walked in a 
very slovenly manner, so far as stepping was concerned. 

I looked about me to observe other gentlemen. I saw 
how some switched about a cane, very impertinently, as 
ladies think ; others had their hats set up on one side of their 
heads, and such always' had a swaggering air ; some con- 
templated their boots every few minutes, and seemed as 
though they were fearful their toilet was not complete. 
I was surprised to see how much fault could be found with 
nearly all of them, and I thought if, when they were boys, 
they had been taught to put their hats on straight, to keep their 
shoulders down, their chests thrown out, their elbows more quiet 
and their toes turned out, how much better figures they 
would now have made. 

But I was most interested in observing the ladies. A 
little girl has no idea how much her general appearance, 
when she is a young lady, will be improved by being able 
to walk well. Bo not fancy frorr this that you are to 



HOW TO BEHAVE. b\) 

practise any airs Ladies oftenest err in supposing such 
airs make them appear more elegant or distinguished. 
This is a grand mistake : the more naturally and simply 
a woman walks, the better is it. Sometimes •, however, per- 
sons are naturally awkward, and sometimes they fall into 
bad habits, so that by taking pains and remembering cer- 
tain things, they can improve their style of walking — their 
"carriage," as we say. 

Style, which many seem to seek, is as much the effect 
of walking well as dressing well ; and if a woman were 
really well dressed and walked badly, she might still be 
called a dowdy. 

Those who "put on airs" are always thinking of the 
effect their appearance produces ; they think some one is 
constantly looking at them, and this induces the effort 
they make at display. Little girls swing their dress skirts 
from one side to the other, hold their heads up very high, 
except when, now and then, they give a stolen glance at 
the manner in which dress or shawl hangs, or their new 
neck ribbon or bag, or the display their pretty and stiff 
handkerchief is making. They are not aware that such 
a glance is at once detected by any one who happens to 
observe them, and. is considered a mark of vulgarity and 
low breeding. 

An opposite fault, of slovenliness in walking, character- 
izes some. They go shuffling along, precisely as if their 
shoes were down at the heel — " slipshod" — and they could 
not lift up their feet in consequence. If it is dusty or 
sandy, they kick up the dust before them and fill their 



60 

skirts with it. This is exceedingly ungraceful. If I were 
a gentleman I really do not think I could marry a lady 
who walked like this: she would appear so very undigni- 
fied, and I could not be proud of her! 

Some have another awkwardness. They lift up their 
feet so high that their knees are sent out before them, 
showing the movement through the dress. They always 
seem to be leaving their skirts behind them, instead of 
carrying them gracefully about them. Some saunter 
along so loosely, they seem to be hung on wires ; others 
are as stiff as if they supposed only straight lines were 
agreeable to the eye ; and others, again, run the chin for- 
ward considerably in advance of the breast, looking very 
silly and deficient in self-respect. 

Sometimes a lady walks so as to turn up her dress be- 
hind every time she puts her foot back ; and I have seen 
a well-dressed woman made to look very awkward by 
elevating her shoulders slightly, and pushing her elbows 
too far behind her. Some hold their hands up to the 
waist, and press their arms against themselves as tightly 
as if they were glued there ; others swing them back- 
wards and forwards, as a business man walks along the 
/street. Too short steps detract from dignity very much, 
* forming a mincing pace ; too long steps are masculine. 
Some walk upon the ball of the foot very flatly and 
clumsily; others come down upon the heel as though a 
young elephant were moving ; and others, again, ruin their 
shoes and their appearance by walking upon the side of 
the foot. Many practise a stoop called the Grecian bend, 



HOW TO BEHAVE. 



61 



and when they are thirty, will pass well, unless the face 
be seen, for fifty years old. 

But I must stop here, though I have many other things 
to say about " walking," about " behaviour in the streets," 
and "dress for the streets." Notice all the faults I have 
named, and see if you cannot accuse yourselves of some 
of them, 




CHAPTER XII. 

BEHAVIOUR IN THE STREET. 

THERE are many hints about behaviour in the streets 
which may not come amiss to you. I do not doubt 
that your parents or friends, or teachers, may remind you 
of the very things that I do ; but young people are heed- 
less, and cannot be told these things too often. 

It is a very common thing to see a girl after she gets 
into the street arranging her shawl, ribbons, or more fre- 
quently putting on her gloves. When I was a little girl 
I went out of the house one day without my gloves on, 
and commenced putting them on as I passed the parlour 
windows. My mother was sitting by the window, and 
observed it. She spoke to me to come into the house 
again, and then said — 

" You should never complete your toilet in the street. 
Your gloves are a part of your dress ; would you dress in 
the street ?" I have remembered that. 

When persons are approaching you. do not look at 
them as if you had never seen their like before. Such 
staring is very rude and disagreeable. Do not turn 
around to hole after them when you have passed them. It is 

(62) 



HOW TO BEHAVE. 63 

a decided breach of good manners to make any remarks 
about them, for it is embarrassing to see yourself the ob- 
ject of remark. When I was beginning to observe the 
proprieties of dress, I, one day, in company with a lady 
much older than myself, passed a young girl who wore a 
light calico dress, with dark stockings ; to show my bet- 
ter taste, I remarked it in not a low tone. The wearer 
heard the remark, and immediately the tears started in 
her eyes. I was pained at once that I had noticed it aloud, 
and expressed my regret to my friend. 

" You may well be grieved," said she. " That is Er- 
nestine Douer; her parents are foreigners, though she is a 
native of this country ; they are poor, and are both inva- 
lids. Poor Ernestine assists them all she can ; some kind 
ladies have tried to help the young creature, and doubt- 
less have given her the very articles of dress you censure. 
You saw how neat her dress was — were she not so good 
a daughter, she might be able to dress better. You 
should be careful how you criticize such things. It is ill- 
bred as well as unkind." I have lived to thank my friend, 
from my heart, for her considerate reproof. 

When you meet a young friend in the street, for the 
first time after an absence, do not, by embraces and kisses, 
call the attention of others to your meeting. Let your 
greeting be cordial and affectionate ; but reserve \erj 
lively demonstrations of your affection for a more private 
place. Kissing in the -street, or in church, is exceedingly out 
of place ; and the custom of meeting your friends with a 
kiss as a common greeting, is a bad custom, not to say 

a 



64 AT HOME AND ABKOAD. 

any thing of the hypocrisy which frequently lies in such 
an act. If you say, in excuse, that it is merely a habit, 
and not considered a mark of affection always, you only 
bring an argument against a habit, which deprives a kiss 
of its significance, of its affectionate meaning. 

Be careful not to talk in a loud tone, and not to gesticulate 
much in the street: they are both unlady-like things. Do 
not hurry, by people unceremoniously ; but if they yield 
you the walk, acknowledge it by a slight inclination of 
the head. 

In short, when in the street your carriage should be 
simple, and as free from faults as possible ; your manner 
quiet, and calculated to attract as little attention as pos- 
sible ; your toilet completed before you leave the house ; 
and of your dress I will speak more particularly in an- 
other chapter. Very few seem to consider what is appro- 
priate dress for the street, and I wish to suggest some of 
the proprieties of dress, which young girls would do well 
to attend to. 




CHAPTEE XIII. 



PROPKIETIES OF DRESS 



I HAVE referred to trie dress proper for the street. I 
will give now a few hints to those young girls wh(? 
are becoming large enough and old enough to consider 
such things for themselves, without implicit reliance on 
the taste and judgment of their mothers or older sisters, 
which they have felt, or should feel, up to this age. I am 
often surprised and mortified to see so little attention paid 
to the 'proprieties of dress by those who have the means 
of indulging their caprices or tastes in this matter. 

I will give some examples of what I consider impro- 
prieties of dress, that you may understand what I mean 
by the word. When I was a young girl, I had a school- 
mate named Annie Eussel, who was the heiress to great 
wealth. She was not very healthy, and whenever she 
took cold, had attacks of croup ; yet Annie always wore to 
school thin kid slippers and white silk stockings. In 
vain her teacher, who had the care of her, remonstrated. 
She " could not and would not wear coarse cotton stock- 
ings or hard leather shoes, they hurt her feet and made 
them look so clumsy." We had to walk a hundred yards 

(65) 



OR, 

to the school-room, and it was all the way under trees or 
over a grassy path, consequently the walk was very damp, 
and Annie's feet often wet and cold, so that she was sick 
half the time. Now Annie had not been taught that it 
was not only desirable for her health, that her feet should 
be more warmly dressed, but that kid slippers and silk 
stockings were not proper articles for school wear — they 
suit a parlour, but not wet paths. 

Annie wore fine silk dresses, and could not run and 
jump, swing and play with the other girls ; " it would ruin 
her clothes," and in the summer her handsome Swiss 
muslins would get tumbled " by such romping." So the 
little lady, who did not know how to dress properly for 
school, could not take any exercise, and she grew up sal- 
low, and thin, and lifeless in action ; no flush of health 
glowed on her hollow cheek ; no litheness and grace cha- 
acterized her movements ; no vivacity gave a charm to 
her conversation. 

Harriet Hansell wore strong but neat calico, gingham 
or worsted dresses to school, stout leather shoes and warm 
stockings ; a warm shawl took the place of Annie's silk 
mantilla, a neat gingham or black silk apron was worn 
instead of a gay sash or fine little fancy apron. Plarriet 
is now a fine, energetic, healthy woman ; she is erect and 
elegant in her gait, for exercise developed and strength- 
ened her frame — she is worth a dozen Annie Russels — is 
happier, and better calculated to make others happy. 

I have seen young children tricked up in laces, Swiss 
muslins and embroideries, in feathers, and flowers, and 



HOW TO BEHAVE. 67 

fine clothes, who would look infinitely better in plainer 
apparel. Good taste is indispensable in dress, but that 
united to neatness is all that is necessary. Good taste is 
the fabled cestus of Yenus, which gave beauty to its 
wearer. It involves suitable fabrics— a neat and becoming "fit- 
ting" to her figure, colours suited to her complexion, and a sim- 
ple and unaffected manner of wearing one's clothes. A worst- 
ed dress in a warm day, or a white one in a cold day, or 
a light thin one in a windy day, are all in bad taste. 
Yery fine or very delicate dresses worn in the street, or 
very highly ornamented clothes worn to church, or to 
shop in, are in bad taste. Yery long dresses worn in 
muddy or dusty weather, even if long dresses are the 
fashion, are still in bad taste. 

I have seen ladies ruining fine kid shoes, white kid 
gloves, and a Swiss muslin dress, or elegant silk, in a shop- 
ping excursion ; and I have seen ladies go to church dress- 
ed as finely in flowers, and jewelry, and laces, as if they 
were going to a party, where only- such things are allow- 
able. This is bad taste ; it is often called, and justly too, 
vulgar taste. 

I dislike to see a girl, or a grown person, come down 
to breakfast in low-necked dresses, loaded with jewelry, 
or in silk dresses more suitable for dinner wear. Really 
this is not much preferable to the slovenliness of wrinkled 
dresses and unbrushed hair. 

Deep and bright-coloured gloves are always in bad taste ; 
very few persons are careful enough in selecting gloves. 
Light shoes and dark dresses, white stockings and dark 



68 AT HOME AND ABROAD. 

dresses, dark stockings and light dresses, are not indica- 
tive of good taste. A girl with neatly and properly dress- 
ed feet, with neat, well-fitting gloves, smoothly arranged 
hair, and a clean, well-made dress, who walks well, and 
speaks well, and, above all, acts politely and kindly, is a 
lady, and no ivealth is required here. Fine clothes and fine 
airs are abashed before such propriety and good taste. 
\Thus the poorest may be so attired as to appear as lady- 
llike as the wealthiest ; nothing is more vulgar than the 
idea that money makes a lady, or that fine clothes can 
do it. 




CHAPTER XIV. 

V TO CHOOSE AND WIN FRIENDS. 

YOU are hardly old enough yet to understand much 
about friendship. Children, and even young people 
in their teens, select associates for some perfection they 
fancy they may possess, or are actuated by a whim for 
which they would be puzzled to give a reason. Are you 
not most attracted at school by those who seem to be open 
and frank in disposition, by those who are generous and 
gay-hearted? 

But sometimes you attach yourselves to rude and clown- 
ish boys, merely because they appear to have a little in- 
fluence or superiority over the others, granted by those 
w r ho do not like to contend with such boisterous persons ; 
or possibly you see they can command indulgences of 
play-things or good things to eat, which you cannot so 
easily procure, and which they are ready to share with 
you. 

Girls are influenced by different motives, but some are 
quite as little praiseworthy. A companion has fine clothes, 
and you fancy you derive some importance from being 
seen in her company ; so you endure her vanity and airs, 

(69) 



70 AT HOME AND . ABROAD ; OR, 

and call her your friend. Some seek the society of those 
who are better scholars than themselves, to reap what ad- 
vantage they can from their friends' assistance in their 
lessons or in their classes. In this case there is too apt 
to be a mingling of envy and jealousy in your regard for 
one so much your superior, and unless you are of a gener- 
ous disposition, you will be inclined to depreciate her, or 
lower her in the opinion of those whom you may hear 
praise her. There are others, again, who associate as much 
as possible with their inferiors in personal or mental ad- 
vantages, because their vulgar little souls are pleased with 
the respect and admiration they then receive. 

I have here supposed various instances of apparent 
friendship which do not deserve the name, inasmuch as 
they are not based on good and worthy motives. Now 
what should induce one person to seek the society of 
another ? 

I will tell you what should regulate your choice of inti- 
mate associates — of friends, in other words. First seek to 
make those your friends, whom you perceive that you can 
in any manner benefit. Eemember that every one, no 
matter how insignificant they may be, has an influence — ■ 
that those around you will almost certainly be better or 
worse for knowing you. What you say, do, or even think, 
will affect them : this constitutes influence. -It is of the 
exercise of this that you' must be careful. If you choose 
a friend in whom you perceive faults, or whom you may 
be aware possesses faults, consider whether you cannot 
influence her to do and to be better. Do not suffer yourself 



HOW TO BEHAVE. 7i 

to come Tinder the influence of her bad traits ; do not as- 
sociate with such a person, unless you feel an assurance 
that jou can do her good. 

If your companion is rude, do you be the more gentle 
and polite ; if boisterous and arrogant, you must be hum- 
ble and quiet, but firm and decided. If she is vain — show 
her that }^ou have a slight care or regard for dress in com- 
parison with other things ; if indolent, do not seek so 
much to assist her in her tasks, as to inspire her with en- 
ergy and ambition, that right kind of ambition which de- 
sires true excellence for itself; and not from the unworthy 
motive of surpassing others. If you perceive that you 
in any way excel your friend, let that superiority give 
you only an occasion for your generosity, unmingled with 
condescension — by prompting you to seek to elevate your 
companion to your own height. 

If it is your friend who possesses the superiority, be 
on your guard against envy, and against the unamiable, 
mean impulse which would prompt you to depreciate her. 
It is always well to choose your friends from those supe- 
rior to yourself intellectually or otherwise, unless you are 
sure of being able to exert a good influence. But as you. 
would beware of envious feelings, so beware of fawning, 
servile .feelings or actions. Do not court a person for 
wealth, or position, or because they have the eclat of 
beauty or brilliant talents. That person who is arrogant, 
supercilious, or even condescending to those below him or 
her, and that person who is cringing and adulatory to 
those above, is not worthy of a friend, and will not have one. 



72 AT HOME AND ABROAD. 

To gain the friendship of an associate requires care, 
not to conceal your faults, but to try to overcome them. Self- 
ishness and vanity are great stumbling-blocks in the way 
of those who wish to make friends. The} r are most offen- 
sive traits in a companion. You must let it be seen that 
you prefer and consider the happiness and comfort of your 
friend ; such disinterestedness is a great promoter of 
happiness even in the person exercising it, and is very at- 
tractive to others. 

Never try to " show off" before her ; she may admire 
you, but not be apt to love you any better, for being smarter 
than she is. There are a thousand delicate little atten- 
tions which will render you agreeable, and at length dear 
to those whom you thus seek to please. Consult her 
tastes in books and in amusements ; do not flatter, or 
praise much in words ; such compliments lack delicacy, 
and are apt to make those who are the objects of your 
praises suspect your sincerity. 

" To gain friends, show yourself friendly ." To win love, 
conquer your faults and become amiable. Be frank, "whole- 
souled," generous, forgetful of self; be not irritable, or sus- 
picious ; not too loving, which often disgusts ; not so anx- 
ious to serve as to be called officious ; not so anxious to 
please, as to deserve the name of a flatterer. Above all 
things do not say one word more than you mean in your very 
soul ; for one sincere, genuine word of approval, is worth 
more, and goes further, than scores of compliments. 



CHAPTER XV. 

HOW TO ENTERTAIN YOUR GUESTS. 

ONE afternoon, several little girls met at the residence 
of Mrs. Lang, in Philadelphia. Cornelia Lang, a lit- 
tle Miss often years of age, was their hostess, on whose 
account they had been invited by her mother. Cornelia 
had been away from home during the months of July and 
August, travelling with her father and mother, who had 
carried her first to see some relatives in Harrisburg, and 
then they had made the "tour of the lakes," as we call it. 
They had visited Cincinnati, had seen Niagara, and sailed 
up the St. Lawrence to Montreal. Of course Cornelia had 
seen a great many and wonderful things, and had a great 
deal to talk about. 

But two or three of her guests had seen as much as she 
had, and all of them had heard these things described 
scores of times, and therefore were not as much interested 
in them as was Cornelia, who had witnessed them so re- 
cently that her mind was full of them, and her tongue 
was continually touching on the theme. 

Among the young girls was Arrah Huntly, a cousin of 

4 (TS) 



74 AT HOME AND ABROAD; OR, 

Sophie Havens, who was paying her first visit to Phila- 
delphia, and who was an extremely intelligent and well- 
bred child. She was among entire strangers, however, 
and was invited to Mrs. Lang's by that lady, because she 
was visiting at the Havens', and because Mrs. Lang had 
once met her mother and had been much pleased with 
her. Let us see how Arrah enjoyed the visit at her 
house. 

There were, perhaps, twenty girls, and these formed 
themselves into various groups, and soon there was a gen- 
eral hum of conversation. Cornelia had a circle gathered 
about herself, and to them she was descanting on the ele- 
gant style in which Aunt Maria lived near Harrisburg; 
how they kept six horses for the harness and several saddle 
horses, and how many carriages they had, and how many 
servants. She also described their beautiful gardens, their 
hot-houses, and conservatory. Then followed all that hap- 
pened to them in their journey ; how they had travelled, 
and even what they had eaten at different places. Some 
who were curious and gossipping, listened well, but I am 
happy to say this was neither the largest nor the most in- 
telligent part of the company. 

Other groups discussed city matters, the private affairs of 
neighbours and absent friends, the little items of local 
which could interest such young people ; their own news 
and others' new dresses and bonnets, and the dancing 
schools soon to be opened. 

Of course none of this interested Arrah ; she tried to 
listen politely to whichever conversation took place near- 



HOW TO BEHAVE. . 75 

est her, bat nothing was said that could attract her atten- 
tion or interest, being a stranger in town, and not inclined 
to gossipping. Mrs. Lang and her sister, Miss Helen 
Austen, were sitting in a distant part of the room, observ- 
ing the children ; they saw Arrah's evident weariness, and 
how much every thing that was said made her feel that 
she was a stranger there. The only attention that had 
been paid to her was when occasionally some one not able 
to speak to those she was eager to talk to, on account of 
so many talking, had turned to her and asked her "How 
she liked Philadelphia ?" This was a very proper ques- 
tion, and might have induced other topics of common in- 
terest, but the questioner seemed to think she had said all 
politeness required of her, and made no other attempt to 
entertain the stranger, who was soon tired of having to an- 
swer, toeach person who approached her, the same question. 
Miss Helen Austen went up to the window, where Ar- 
rah sat looking out very sadly, and addressed her. She 
inquired for her mother — if she had any brothers and sis- 
ters — if her sister Annie went to school with her — what 
they studied — if Thomas wanted to go to College — when 
Henry would be back from the West Indies — being able 
to ask all these questions by the information given in Ar- 
rah's replies. Arrah's face brightened. She told about 
her home, which was on the Kennebec river, in Maine, and 
described a visit she had paid the summer before to the 
Penobscot Indians, which tribe had a little settlement be- 
tween their village and the lake they had visited. Miss 
Helen was much interested in Arrah's account of this 



76 

tribe, of their half-civilized manners and modes of life ; 
and how they met with such continual misfortunes, that 
Mr. Huntly, her father, had said they would soon disap- 
pear altogether from that section of country. 

The little girl was interested in her own narrative ; she 
forgot that she was a stranger, and talked earnestly and 
feelingly, and therefore well, about the " Eed Men." By- 
and-by a circle gathered about her, of those who had 
any attention to bestow on any others, or any thing else 
than themselves. They had questions to ask, and she 
could answer them, for she had not travelled to show oft 
herself, or to get something good to eat. Then Miss 
Helen asked -her if she had ever heard the "Song of the 
Eed Man," and she said " Yes, she had learnt it the fall 
after her return," and when all said they would like to 
hear it, she went directly to the piano and sang it. 

Now other songs followed ; Arrah's taste was consulted 
as to what she would like to hear sung or played ; some 
of the company were good performers, for their age, and 
Arrah, who loved music, was delighted. Thus the ice 
about the young stranger was broken up — the other girls 
found out now intelligent and agreeable she could be, 
though very modest withal, and were willing to be enter- 
tained by her, and do all they could to please her ; pic- 
tures, music, and, after tea, some merry games, made the 
evening pass charmingly, and Arrah went home with her 
cousin, full of pleasant thoughts and agreeable memories 
of the evening and of' those she had met with at Mrs. 
Lang's. 



HOW TO BEHAVE. 



77 



Do jou not see, my young friends, how easy it was to 
be agreeable, and how easy a matter to entertain a young 
stranger, as soon as the company were able to forget them- 
selves and their desire to show off. Arrah learned a les- 
son she never forgot, and no one visiting her ever had 
occasion to say Arrah Huntley was selfish, or vain, or 
fond of showing off at the expense of her visitors. 




CHAPTER XVI. 



A FEW days since, I was taking a walk with a friend, 
when we observed three or four young boys whose 
soiled and disorderly clothes looked very much as if loaf- 
ing and playing in the streets were habitual things with 
them. A carriage came down Broadway, and turned into a 
rather quiet cross-street. The boys all started in pursuit, 
and one of them succeeded in jumping upon the back 
of it. 

" Cut behind I" cried the three who had been unsuc- 
cessful. 

The successful candidate for the ride sneered at his com- 
panions and twirled his fingers at the end of his nose. 
This enraged them still more, and they cried out very 
vociferously — 

"Cut behind!" 

The driver did so, and the lash had the effect of mak- 
ing the youngster drop down to the ground again very 
quickly. Then the others taunted him, calling out — 

"Don't it tingle, Bill?" "I say, does it pay, Bill?" 

178) 



HOW TO BEHAVE. 79 

"famous long lash, that. I'd keep out of the way of it ;" 
and other such expressions. 

I remarked to my companion, "that the phrase ' cut be- 
hind," 1 teas the very embodiment of spite and malicious envy, 
and that the whole scene was a complete epitome of ambitious 
life" The eager rush of the competitors ; the arrogant 
exultation of the one who gained the desired goal ; the 
malice excited in the hearts of those whom he had dis- 
tanced ; their efforts to procure his downfall; the sting 
which accompanied the unmerited, elevation ; and his ene- 
mies rejoicing when he had been forced to their level again, 
were all so many phases of life. Truly, "the child's the 
father of the man !" 

What a lesson was read, too, of the wickedness of the 
heart— of the ill-effects which follow the indulgence of 
envious and mean feelings. How utterly all generosity 
must be destroyed in him who cannot rejoice in the suc- 
cess of his fellows because he is left behind; and how con- 
temptible to turn traitor and betray one whose only fault, 
in the traitor's estimation, was, that he had been able to 
do that which the other could not, for the boy cared nei- 
ther for the horses, the carriage, nor driver, only for the 
ride which his comrade was enjoying. 

Boys, what kind of a man will that boy make who 
would run with another for the ride, and then call out 
"Cut behind !" (We will suppose, for the sake of the ex- 
ample, that it is right to obtain the ride if possible, al- 
though it is not really right, as you know.) Would not 
a just, generous, honorable, right-minded, good-hearted 



80 AT HOME AND ABKOAD ; OR, 

boy, rather rejoice that "Bill" had succeeded, even at his 
own expense? If he could join in the race, it is not his 
conscience, offended at the other's wrong-doing which 
prompts him to utter the cry ; it is his vexation at "Bill's" 
success, ancl his desire to see him humbled. Hence his 
taunts when he has succeeded in getting him down. 

It is very wrong also thus to obtain rides behind car- 
riages. I should think a boy who would do it deserved re- 
proof or correction; but I should despair of improving 
him, who, vexed at another's good fortune, would call out 
" Cut behind I" His heart is in the wrong place, and such 
lads are incorrigible. 




CHAPTEE XVII. 

ANNA BAKTON'S AFFECTATIONS. 

WHEN" I was a little girl, not more than six or seven 
years old, I became inspired with a great fondness 
for reading. This led me into some faults which I will 
tell you of, and among others, I was so vain as to fancy 
myself one of the most wonderfully "smart" children in 
the world. I disdained those who were ignorant of books 
I had read — and all who did not prefer reading to play- 
ing. 

Upon one occasion, when as usual, I remained in the 
school-room, instead of going out to play with the 
other girls at our " intermission," I asked permission of 
my teacher to read a little book I had seen on her table. 
It was a pocket edition of Paul and Yirginia. I was soon 
deeply interested, and when my teacher remarked to me : 

" You love to read better than to play. Are you not 
lonely in here ?" 

I replied, pressing the little book to my heart : 

" With such a companion I am always happy. Indeed, 
I am c never less alone, than when alone.' " 

(81) 



82 AT HOME AND ABKOAD; OE, 

How often, since then, have I laughed at the thought 01 
my affectation, and wondered that I was not taught bet- 
ter ; but my teacher was proud of my superior intelligence, 
and too weak to check my vanity. The time I ought to 
have spent in studying, was wasted in reading frivolous 
books, and though a natural quickness enabled me to 
keep up with my classes, and frequently to keep at the 
head of them, still my knowledge was getting to be very 
superficial, and my vanity, fostered by indiscreet flattery, 
showed itself in affectations which must have been dis- 
gusting. 

I used to seat myself in a conspicuous window, with a 
large book in my lap, over which I pored attentively 
for hours. I used words of three or four syllables invari- 
ably, when I could find those that expressed my meaning, 
and made great circumlocutions to introduce favourite 
phrases which had struck me as particularly fine. 

"How is your mother to-day, Anna?" said a gentle- 
man to me. 

" She is convalescent, I thank you sir, and we antici- 
pate a complete recovery for her soon," I replied. 

" I did not know she had been so ill as you make it 
appear," said the gentleman. 

" She suffers from ennui and languor, resulting, I think, 
from secluding herself so much, and yesterday, was quite 
overcome with morbid melancholy." 

Here my mother, who had overheard our conversation, 
made her appearance. In vain I affected the dignity 
which had enabled ten years to utter the above remarks, 



HOW TO BEHAVE. 83 

but a glance from her calm eye told me I had been over- 
heard, and I left the room immediately, though not too 
quickly to hear my mother remark : 

" Do not be alarmed Mr. Warren ; I had a slight head- 
ache yesterday, from want of exercise I suppose, and as 
I supported my head on my hand for a half hour, the 
foolish child found a ground-work for her ridiculous 
fancies." 

" Mr. Arnold has painted his fence in a very funny 
way," said a school friend, as we were going to school 
one morning. 

" Yes," T answered, " painting his fence black indicates 
great fastidiousness of taste, and disposes me to believe 
him demented." 

My companion stared at me and made no answer, while 
I minced along the pavement, meditating on her silence, 
which I thought was caused by her profound admiration 
of my large words. But I was a little mortified when 
we reached school to hear her say to another girl : 

" Anna B is very ridiculous, if she ain't a fool, 

for she can't talk like other people. She's too good for 
my company, that's certain." 

But I must not stop now to tell you of all my airs, and 
affected smartness. I quite gave up the manners and oc- 
cupations of childhood ; sought to associate myself only 
with grown people, and felt slighted if not allowed to take 
part in every conversation which took place in my pres- 
ence. The year that I was eleven, I read all Sir Walter 
Scott's novels, and when I was twelve I read Lalla Eookh, 



8-i * AT HOME AND ABROAD; OR, 

Lord of the Isles, Lady of the Lake, etc. When I had 
read a book, I considered myself quite competent to pro- 
nounce upon its merits, and the capacity of its author, 
and the surprise my unusual course of reading (unusual 
for my age) awakened in those who talked to me, flat- 
tered me extremely, and consoled me for the mortifica- 
tions I experienced in the rebukes of my mother, who 
was pained at my folly, and who vainly sought to make 
me do better. 

My mother I really and affectionately loved, and the 
reformation from those affectations which I underwent, 
and which gave me infinitely more simplicity of character 
at eighteen than at eight, had its "root in that profound 
affection. I had sometimes excused myself when my 
mother reproved me for my airs, by thinking, a Ah, she 
does not see how much people admire me, and how I im- 
press every one with my superiority. I am a great credit 
to her, really." 

But so it happened that one day I overheard a conver- 
sation like this — 

"You have seen Mrs. Barton's Anna, have you not? 
She is a very disgusting child." 

"How so? 'you surprise me." 

" Oh, she has so many absurd affectations. She is always 
doing or saying something to attract attention ; she simpers, 
throws her head about, and. talks as volubly and learnedly 
as a foolish woman of fashion would be expected to do." 

"Does not her mother see her faults, and try to correct 
them ?" 



HOW TO BEHAVE. 85 

" Yes. She is often deeply mortified by her pertness 
and her airs, but the child obstinately resists all attempts 
to improve her, fancying that at twelve, she knows quite 
as much as her mother at thirty-five. I am afraid she is 
incorrigible, and as I sincerely esteem Mrs. Barton, it 
pains me to see her have a child who is such a disgrace 
to her. As I saw Anna mince into church Sunday morn- 
ing I said to myself, ' I pity the mother of that compound 
of vanity and pertness.' " 

Oh, I cannot tell you how intensely I was mortified by 
this ; what bitter tears I shed, and what promises I made 
to myself of amendment. The mother Tvhoni I loved so 
ardently, was disgraced by me ; the learning I had fan- 
cied so wonderful, was laughed at ; I was ready to die oi 
shame. I envied the most stupid child I knew — vowed 
never to open a book or say " book" again — became afraid 
to speak lest some long word might call out the sneer I 
expected to read on every face, and in fine, was truly con- 
vinced of my folly, and desirous by immediate improve- 
ment to recover my lost position. 

I was quiet and humble all day, that day — had no dis- 
pute with my brother — assisted my little sister to dress 
her doll — sewed my task well — finished my lessons, and 
got ready for bed, sadder but wiser than in all my life be- 
fore. Then I sent to beg my mother to come into my 
room, and when she had folded me to her heart, I con- 
fessed my vain and foolish arts, and expressing my sor- 
row for such folly, begged her to pardon me for having 
been " only a disgrace " to her. She talked to me long 



86 



of the beauty of simplicity, and said, " a modest, ingenuous 
and transparent character, is a girVs greatest charm. Culti- 
vate such qualities, my daughter, and you will not fail to 
win love and make me proud of my child." 

I hope she never had cause to blush again for my vain 
affectations. 




CHAPTER XVIII. 
"harry" hasty. 

BUT few little girls are neat and tidy about their rooms, 
unless they are taught by those who have the care 
of them, to be so. If a girl puts away her clothes when 
she takes them off, hangs up her dress at night, and 
places her shoes and stockings carefully aside, her young 
companions would be very likely to call her " old maid- 
ish." Not that she need mind that, for to be as neat as 
an "old maid "is a very desirable thing; still it shows 
that the quality is rare among girls, and not as much 
esteemed as it should be. 

A young girl was taken sick in the night, and the phy- 
sician was sent for hastily. In the mean time, her father, 
very much alarmed for her, went to her chamber, and 
what a sight presented itself to his eyes. Her clothes 
were lying in a ring on the floor, just where she had 
stepped out of them ; her apron strings entangled his feet 
as he moved towards her ; her shoes were scattered about ; 
toilet articles were lying where they had been used when 
she took her bath for the night : a brush caused him to 
slip, and the disorder of the whole apartment struck him 
very painfully. 

Harriet Hasty, or "Harry," as she was usually called, 

(87) 



88 

was really very ill, and before her room could be put in 
order, the physician had arrived. When she was some- 
what relieved of- her severe pain, and Dr. Emerson had 
gone away, Mr. Hasty came to her bedside to say good- 
night, and as he did so, he said : 

" I trust, my daughter, you will never again expose 
yourself and your parents to the mortification you have 
given us to-night, by your ill-kept and disorderly room. 
Really, my mortification has been greater than my anxiety. 
I hope you will be better in the morning, and we will have 
something more to say about this matter." 

In the morning, " Harry "listened to the reproofs of her 
parents, and manifested some contrition ; but her old 
habits of indolence and carelessness were strong, and she 
frequently had some great mortifications. I remember 
one which occurred while I was visiting at Mrs. Hasty 's. 

" Harry's" grandmother had made her a very nice shoe- 
bag. It was about the length of a pair of shoes, and had 
several divisions in it, so that every pair of shoes had its 
place. This hung in her wardrobe, but truth to say, was 
not much used. About her wardrobe and her room, were 
scattered nutshells and half eaten nuts where Harry had 
been feasting, and had not taken the trouble to " clear 
up " her apartment afterwards. These attracted the rats 
who had hiding places in the walls and made nightly 
sorties into the room, through a hole in the plastering, 
which being under the bed, she had not discovered. 
Harry pulled off a pretty pair of bronze shoes, one night, 
and instead of putting them into her shoe bag, they were 



HOW TO BEHAVE. 89 

thrown upon the floor, and finally thrust under the bed. 
There they remained from one Sunday night till the next 
Sunday morning, and when the careless girl went to put 
them on, she found the toe and side of one shoe quite 
eaten up. She was in despair, and cried aloud; her 
mother hearing her, entered her room, and learned the 
cause of the outcry. 

"You are justly punished, Harriet," she said, "I do 
not pity you, at all.. You must either remain at home 
from Church to-day, and for several Sundays, or you 
must wear these old school-shoes, which are indeed very 
shabby," 

Harry knew well that her father would not suffer her 
to stay at home, and reluctantly she put on the old shoes. 
Eor a month she had no others to wear ; but during that 
month a change took place in the looks of her room, 
and in her own personal appearance. Her shoes were put 
out of the rats' way, the state of affairs under the bed was 
looked into, and the hole stopped up. The nutshells dis- 
appeared, and her clothes no longer made rings on the 
floor. She really deserved the handsome new shoes she 
found lying by her bed one Sunday morning, and she 
never again deserved the name of " sloven." 



CHAPTEE XIX. 



SELFISHNESS 



IT is a great fault of children who have the misfortune 
to be alone in a family, to be selfish. They are so 
much accustomed to having their own way in everything, 
that they have no idea that any one else can have a dif- 
ferent way, and have as much right to it as they have to 
theirs. They have never been thwarted by one of their 
own age, and the parents of " only" children are generally 
so indulgent, that they are thwarted by no one. Thus 
they become very selfish, and are not accustomed to the 
exercise of such winning and delightful attributes as gen- 
erosity, magnanimity, meekness and humility. Is it not, 
therefore, a misfortune for children to live without play- 
fellows ? 

Last summer I saw a great deal of a little boy, who was 
" an only child." His parents had lost, by death, three 
children older than himself, and though not foolishly in- 
dulgent, they were much less inclined to be " strict" with 
him than if such had not been the case. When in health, 
he had fine spirits, a great deal of energy of character, and 
with all, a very strong will, to which he seemed disposed 
to make all other wills yield. Such a disposition, un- 
checked by the watchful control which should have been 

(90) 



HOW TO BEHAVE. 91 

exercised, and uncurbed by never having to " give up" to 
a playmate, became very manifest and was not at all 
agreeable. 

For the first time in his life this little boy had play- 
mates, in the family where his mamma was visiting. Now 
his selfishness, which was more the result of his training, 
or want of training, and of circumstances, than of a natu- 
rally selfish disposition, began to show itself. If he saw 
any playthings which he fancied, he claimed them as his 
own, or begged for them to play with, when told that they 
belonged to some one else. He was angry if any garment 
belonging to himself was put on another child; he was 
even angry if his old clothes or shoes were given to an- 
other. He could not see that they were too shabby for 
himself — he only knew that they were his, and therefore 
he thought no one else had any right to them. One day, 
just before they went back to the city, his mamma put a 
pair of his gaiters on his little cousin's feet, to see what size 
of shoes should be sent up to him from town. The selfish 
little boy flew into a great passion about it ; " they were 
his shoes, and Charlie had no right to them." He would 
not allow any one to touch what belonged to his mamma, 
more than his own things, or to wear any thing he had ever 
seen her wear. 

11 Mamma, I want that wheelbarrow." " But it is Char- 
lie's wheelbarrow." " /want it — I have no wheelbarrow 
to play with." Then Charlie's mamma would tell her child 
to let his cousin have it, and so Charlie, who was more yield- 
ing in disposition, would give up the plaything. Such 



92 

scenes were of constant occurrence, and were extremely 
disagreeable to all. To his mother they were painful, for 
they betrayed so much that was unamiable in her child. 
The boy was lively, intelligent, ingenuous, but he displayed 
a trait of character for which none of those qualities could 
compensate. The only hope was, that as circumstances 
had contributed so much to forming such a disposition, 
different circumstances in which she intended he should be 
placed, would aid her in correcting his fault. She was 
glad he had a strong will, and strong points of character ; 
she admired decision, firmness, energy, perseverance and 
ingenuity. But she admired, also, generosity, and that 
gentle desire to make others happy, which renders a per- 
son yielding and amiable. He was willing enough and 
ready to say, when an apple was given to him, " Please 
give me one for Charlie ;" but he never said, " I will give 
Charlie a piece of my apple." He liked to have Charlie 
gratified and made happy, but not at his expense. 

One day, a pretty little toy was given to the young vis 
iter. Hitherto the playthings had all belonged to Charlie 
Charlie had a number of them ; he was in his own house, 
surrounded by servants and friends who almost idolized 
him, for he, too, was an only child, and a very handsome, 
engaging one, and, therefore, there were fewer things to 
annoy and disturb him, than his cousin. He was usually 
well-disposed to yield, even when his playmate was so 
unkindly exacting. Now, as I have said, the pretty toy — a 
little horse and wheels— was not Charlie's, but his cousin's, 
and the child appeared in a new character. 



HOW TO BEHAVE. 93 

" Mamma, shall Charlie tubble (trouble) my new horse ? 
It is my. horse, my papa brought it to me ; you mustn't 
have it," etc., were the little boy's frequent expressions. 
In vain the representation was made to him that he had 
played with Charlie's toys, and now he should let Charlie 
play with his. He would brook no interference, no "tub- 
bling," as he called it, with anything of his. 

I do not wish to tell the name of this little boy, for it 
would be mortifying to his friends, and when he grows 
older it would mortify him very much to know that so 
many knew of his now prominent fault. He is not three 
years old yet, and before he is old enough to read and under- 
stand about it, I hope he will have changed and improved 
very much. I have written this account of him that 
those who read it may learn from it how very unpl easing 
and disagreeable a fault selfishness is. I hope they will 
guard against it, as they wish to. be happy themselves, or 
to make others so. The truest, purest happiness in this 
world is that which springs from a conscience that acquits 
them of all intentional error, of mean selfishness especially. 




CHAPTER XX. 

WHY GIRLS SHOULD BE TREATED WITH RESPECT. 

"OW strange it is that boys should think they exhibit 
manliness, when they treat women or girls with 
disrespect ! It is the very opposite of ^e^e-manliness, 
as I have often said before. It is a libel on their sisters 
and mothers, for if they had good, and worthy, and love- 
able women about them, they would be supposed to cher- 
ish for such relatives a degree of respect, which would 
extend itself to all of their sex. 

There is another reason why girls are deserving of 
respect from boys, and why women are worthy of the 
courtesy with which they are treated by gentlemen. A 
girl has purer and more guarded associations than boys 
have. She sees less that is coarse, and degraded, and 
revolting, and sensual ; sights of sin and drunkenness, and 
the words of profanity and low ribaldry, are less common 
to her eyes and ears. She has the gentle and refining 
influence of a mother exercised over her, in its full force, 
longer than boys have. Thus she is, or should be, much 
purer and more refined, and she is worthy of regard for 
these reasons. 

Girls have also an opportunity for the cultivation of 
virtues and graces which boys have not. They learn to 
be more unselfish, and less considerate of their own per- 

[94] 



HOW TO BEHAVE. 95 

sonal comfort ; but such disinterestedness is the principal 
charm of a true v/oman. They learn to be patient with 
those weaker and inferior to themselves ; they are gentle, 
and tender, and capable of a great endurance of fatigue 
or suffering, for the sake of those they love. With what 
tender solicitude have I seen a daughter care for the com- 
fort and happiness of a father, or a sister watching by the 
bedside of a suffering mother ; and what can equal a mo- 
ther's devotions to her children, for whom she endures 
hours of weary watching without a murmur. So, a good, 
faithful wife, is "a crown of glory to her husband," the 
Bible says. In another place, a great affection is said to 
be " surpassing the love of woman" as if that was the ten- 
derest and most devoted feeling the world could show 
evidence of. 

In young girls are the germs, or the undeveloped vir- 
tues, which make women so estimable in their peculiar 
characters and relations. As they grow older, if a proper 
and judicious training is their lot, whether the training is 
the result of a parent's care, or a teacher's counsels, or of 
controlling circumstances, or the force of their own fine 
impulses, they will lose the vanity and petty weaknesses 
which mar the loveliness of their characters ; and when 
"Time, Truth, Grief and Grace" have done their work, a 
'•perfect woman" is a fit object for respectful courtesy, for 
admiration, for profound and tender love. 

How, then, is it manly to be uncourteous and rude to 
them? Does the mere superiority of. strength, which, 
unrestrained by refinement, is simply brutal, — does this 



yt) AT HOME AND ABKOAD. 

give boys a right to be rude ? Far from it. In many of 
the nobler brutes, their great strength is often accompa- 
nied by a species of magnanimity, which renders them 
tender of those weaker than themselves. A boy, then, 
who makes use of his greater strength and fearlessness to 
tease and torment a little girl, is more than a brute. It is 
a strong word to use, but it is a true definition of the pro- 
pensity, to say that it is fiendish. 

Those young men who have had it in their power to 
associate familiarly with eloquent, and refined, and ami- 
able women, are always noticeable for a superior polish 
and ease of manner. They have the courteous and grace- 
ful bearing exhibited towards all who are their inferiors 
in strength, which in the olden time distinguished knights 
and chevaliers, and was the certain token of gentle or re- 
fined breeding. They were reverent to old age, courteous 
towards ladies, tender of young children, and affable to 
their inferiors in rank. 

Here is the lesson for girls, that they should see to it, 
and become what I have said a true woman ought to be, 
gentle, loving, considerate, unselfish, patient and devoted. 
Then they will all be worthy of the courtesy which they 
claim. 

And to the boys who read this letter^ I would say, — any 
rudeness, or slight or disrespect towards a girl, is an evi- 
dence of a nature which must be controlled and restrained, 
or you will never deserve the title of gentlemen. 



CHAPTEK XXL 

PROPRIETIES IN TRAVELING. 

IT is not an uncommon thing to find young people who 
are considered well-bred, and pleasant-mannered at 
home, not simply regardless of proprieties in traveling, 
but so inconsiderate of any thing but their own comfort, 
that they become great nuisances to other travelers. This 
is the case with such children as are only superficial in 
their conduct ; I mean such as behave, because they have 
been taught that this thing or that is vulgar, and low- 
bred, rather than because their hearts are trained to kind- 
ness, and their politeness is its outworking. When thrown 
into new scenes, and exposed to disagreeable circumstan- 
ces, they act out the natural impulses of their selfish, or 
querulous spirits, and become wonderfully unpleasant 
companions. 

In bright contrast to these is the conduct of the amiable 
and unselfish. To be an agreeable traveling companion 
is a great recommendation, and is a character all would 
wish to bear if only they could ' ' see themselves as others 
see them." 

I have traveled much in the last few years, both by 
sea and land, and r as I am apt to do, I have made many 

(97) 5 



98 



OK, 



observations on the people around me. I have had occa- 
sion to note the well-bred and the ill-bred, the amiable and 
the unamiable, and have drawn from their conduct some 
important lessons. 

Before I speak of behaviour, however, I wish to refer 
to some proprieties of dress and other preparations for a 
journey, which it is desirable to attend to. 

Nobody who is aware of the "wear and tear" which 
assails her garments on a journey, will wear fine or light, 
or otherwise delicate dresses, or shawls or bonnets. Ex- 
posure to the weather, which may unexpectedly become 
stormy ; to the dust, and to the rudeness of those around, 
in the rush and crush which are the characteristics of travel- 
ing now-a-days, will effectually ruin almost any kind of 
clothing. Ladies, therefore, are accustomed now to pro- 
vide for themselves and their children, the plainest and 
most substantial kinds of dresses, shoes, shawls, coats, 
bonnets, and hats. All silks, laces, embroideries, fine rib- 
bons, muslins, and jewelry, are considered, very properly, 
to be in bad taste in railroad cars or steamboats. 

If it is desirable to wear a broach, let it be of the plain- 
rest and simplest kind. Wear your watch chain out of 
sight, or suspend your watch, as some do, by a black cord 
or ribbon. A thick veil is indispensable, as you are liable 
to be much annoyed by dust, or smoke and cinders, and 
also by the stares of rude and vulgar people with whom 
you are liable anywhere to come into close contact. 

As for dresses, a plain-coloured foularde in summer, 
or a neat linen chambrey, or better still, a de bac/e, are ap- 



HOW TO BEHAVE. 99 

propriate materials. Plain straw bonnets, with green or 
other very neat coloured ribbons on them ; linen collars, 
under handkerchiefs, and cambric sleeves, gloves to match 
the dresses in hue, and gaiter boots, complete a neat trav- 
eling costume for ladies. Gentlemen usually carry trav- 
eling caps in their pockets, and wear loose brown linen 
sacques over their coats. It is a good plan to provide 
yourselves with convenient baskets which will hold night 
clothes, combs, and brushes, a small needle-case — contain- 
ing sewing materials, and a pincushion. In addition to 
these, a bottle of good cologne is of great use ; its odor is 
reviving, and it will refresh you to rub your hands and 
face with it, where it is not possible to make as plentiful 
use of water as you desire. I carry, in addition to these, 
one or two small towels, and a sponge. Children want 
crackers, oftentimes; and apples are good for them. But 
candies, cakes, juicy fruits, tarts, &c, are not only un- 
wholesome, but make their faces, hands, and clothes so 
dirty, that they are to be avoided by all means. Linen 
coats, trowsers, sacques, and aprons, are best for children's 
clothes, unless the weather is very cold. 

As children seldom travel alone, it is to be supposed 
their parents, or those who have the care of them, will 
keep a close observance of all they do, and try to pre- 
vent their becoming annoyances to those around them. 
One thing, however, the children themselves must attend 
to. That is, that they pay the most entire and unquestion- 
ing obedience to any command given to them, or wish ex- 
pressed, by those older. There are so many perils attend- 



100 



AT HOME AND ABROAD ; OR, 



ing journeys, especially in these latter days, that there 
cannot be too much care exercised by their guardians, or 
too implicit obedience paid by the children. 

I shall reserve, for another chapter, my personal ob- 
servations in my journeys. 




CHAPTEE XXII. 

A NIGHT IN A SEA -STEAMER. 

I WILL not undertake to recall all the many scenes 
which, twelve years of constant travel have brought 
me, but an incident or two in a recent journey will not 
prove uninstructive. 

When I left the city in which I reside it was in a steam- 
boat, and we were soon at sea, where the water was so 
rough, and the boat rocked so uneasily, that several of the 
passengers were sea-sick. Sea-sickness is one of the most 
unpleasant sensations in the world, and does not dispose 
those who suffer from it to be very amiable. The little 
children cared least for it, and though some were sick, it 
did not appear to affect their temper as much as it did that 
of some who were older, and ought to have known better. 

There were three young girls, who looked very neat in 
their new travelling costume, when they first came on 
board, and who seemed to be very lively and cheerful, but 
their liveliness soon subsided into almost total silence, 
broken only by impatience, and even rude exclamations 
of annoyance and illness. One was very cross to the 
chambermaid, who could not do anything to please her ; 
she also spoke pettishly to her sister and cousin, which 
seemed to be the relation the others bore to her. She 
Ooi) 



102 

sent several times for her father, and complained of her 
unpleasant feelings to him, as if he occasioned or could 
prevent them. Altogether, she certainly did all she could 
to make others as uncomfortable as herself, and when I 
looked at her cross face and listened to her pettish, whin- 
ing tones, I wondered I could ever have been pleased with 
her. 

Her younger sister was much like her, only she made 
fewer demonstrations of ill temper ; she seemed much 
more reserved, and would sometimes reprove "Elinor" in 
a sharp tone for "making such a fuss." But if she said 
less, she was certainly no less unamiable than her sister. 
" Carrie," as they called their cousin, was a gentle, blue- 
eyed little girl, who was in reality a much greater sufferer 
than the sisters were, but she was certainly the sweetest 
tempered girl ; she seemed to try to give as little trouble 
as possible ; she had gentle tones, and said pleasant words, 
and even tried to smile when Tier uncle asked her how 
she felt. 

It seemed they had all been at school during the winter 
in C, and were now going home, and the father looked 
very sorrowful as he contemplated the unpleasant counte- 
nances of his children, and saw these indications ; for 
whatever change had been effected in his children for the 
better, it certainly was not their tempers which had im- 
proved. 

When night came on, and the sea-sickness only grew 
more unbearable, the confusion became greater, and the 
scene was sometimes ludicrous, and sometimes shocking. 



HOW TO BEHAVE. 103 

One lady lost her false hair, which, with her side-combs, 
went rolling on the cabin floor, in company with some 
ginger-bread which strayed from her work-bag. The 
attentive chambermaid picked them all up, and helped the 
poor lady to a couch, but her groans were most sonorous 
and expressive. A curtain was drawn, separating the 
ladies who, had no accommodations except mattresses on 
the saloon floor, from the gentlemen, who were similarly 
unfortunate, on the other side. 

Among the ladies was one who had not been long mar- 
ried to her present husband ; she had been a widow, and 
made great pretensions to refinement and intellectual cul- 
tivation. The husband was quite a servant to her various 
whims, which, however, were usually expressed in very 
insinuating tones. Now, as she rolled on her bed, her 
groans and complaints were indicative of any thing but 
refined affection. " Good Lord, Mr. W. I" " What, my 
love ? " from the other side of the curtain. " Oh, I shall 
die — I'm awfully sick. Come here and hold my head." 

" I can't, my darling, I also am" and here his sentence 

was cut short by sounds of no unequivocal nature. " Come 
here, I say ; what did you take me to sea for, when you 
could not take care of me ? You are a brute, Mr. W. 
Oh, Lord !" But enough of this. 

I have but one more thing to tell, and then I must stop 
having hardly finished my sea voyage, and reserving all 
my railroad adventures for another time. 

A friend, who passed most of the night on the upper 
deck, told me of a little incident which was quite a relief 



104 AT HOME AND ABEOAD. 

to the usual disagreeable scenes of sickness at sea. There 
was a lady, evidently from the country, and of plain ap- 
pearance, who was sitting with her son near the boat-rail- 
ing. He held her head whenever there came a paroxysm 
of sickness. By-and-by, the young man also became sick, 
and was about putting her head down on the bench, while 
he went to the other side of the boat. A number of well- 
dressed and fashionable young men were walking up and 
down the deck. One of them observing the mother and 
son, and the situation of the latter, went up to him at once 
and kindly asked to be allowed to take his place ; and 
there he sat, and actually held the old lady's head for two 
or three hours. When he joined his companions, he had 
to bear much raillery on the subject of his gallantry, and 
his odd choice of a lady to whom to be polite. He took 
it very well, and his reply quite hushed their rattle. 

" You may laugh as much as you please, but I thought 
if she were my mother, how I should feel to see her obliged 
to be neglected, and I am not at all ashamed of the im- 
pulse which induced me to offer my services." 

I wish his mother could have heard him ; I think she 
would have been more proud of him than ever. This 
little incident, and the sweet serenity, under such unpleas- 
ant circumstances, which the gentle " cousin Carrie" had 
shown, impressed me very much, in the contrast they 
formed, to the usual selfishness of people when sea-sick. 



CHAPTER XXIII. 

A DAY ON A RAILEOAD. 

44 II 7" AS you ever in the cars before ?" 

V V " If I had a' been I shoudn't be here now," 
was the reply, in a nasal and querulous tone. 

I was sitting before the speakers, in a fine car on the 
railroad, and the above question was asked and an- 
swered, at the first station which we reached, after leaving 
the city of S . I turned around to see who the per- 
sons conversing might be, for the answer of the old lady 
had amused me. She was a fresh arrival from the heart 
of New England. She had accompanied her son, who, 
with his family lived at the South, on this long, and to 
her mind, most perilous journey. A " wagon" had con- 
veyed them to the ship, which landed them at S . 

She was not afraid at sea, for a neighbor of her's "had 
been a sea-faring man for forty-odd years, and never been 
drown ded ;" but the horrid din, " the supernat'ral speed" 
of. the cars was too much for her, and then " Miss John- 
son's brother's wife's son, by her first marriage, had been 
killed, she believed, in this very State of Georgia, on the 
railroad. He 'tended the ingine, and had been throw'd 
off and fractioned his skull." 

These particulars, I heard her give to her questioner, a 



106 AT HOME AND ABROAD; OE, 

respectably-clad woman from the interior, who was so 
much more at home on the outlandish vehicles, because 
" the road run now within a mile and a half of her house, 
which used to bo more than thirty-six miles from a 
town." 

The old lady groaned and complained during the re* 
mainder of the day, and reproached her son for bringing 
her to a place which must be reached by such a mode of 
travelling. Sometimes the scenes between them were 
amusing, at other times they were annoying to the invol- 
untary listeners. These were not all the annoyances of 
that day. The heat was most excessive— the dust and 
smoke perfectly unbearable, and the scarcity of good 
water a great source of discomfort to the crowded, wearied 
passengers. There were some small children along with 
us, who were foolishly supplied with candies and cakes 
almost incessantly, which aggravated the thirst incident to 
the heat and suffocation. They were greedy, dirty, cross, 
sleepy, and altogether very uncomfortable little associates. 
Two of them, however, formed an exception to these 
remarks. One was a lively, intelligent child, about two 
years old — the other a noble, though rather delicate look- 
ing lad of perhaps ten years. 

"Oh papa," said he, as he caught sight of the younger 
child in a remote part of the car, "how much that little 
boy is like my little brother Malcolm. May I go ask his 
mother to let him come and sit with us ?" 

The permission was granted, the request made and 
acceded to, — the little one was enchanted with the pros- 



HOW TO BEHAVE. 107 

pect of a relief from the monotony of his own seat, from 
which he dared not wander alone, — and all parties looked 
pleased. The lad, whose name was Leslie, took most 
tender care of the little Bertie. If the cars stopped long- 
enough for any one to leave them, Leslie's father carried 
Bertie out in his arms to give him some fresh air. Leslie 
himself continually pointed out every object which could 
interest the child. 

I was pleased as I regarded him forgetting his own dis- 
comforts to please the little fellow ; whenever he had a 
chance he bathed his face and hands in the cool water, — 
often giving him drink. He was most solicitous lest the 
child should eat anything which would provoke thirst ; 
an unripe banana was thrown away, a ripe one carefully 
peeled, a ginger-cake put out of sight, a piece of juicy 
apple given, — and thus he was continually consulting the 
happiness of his little protege. Not a complaint was 
heard from Leslie during the whole weary day. He 
changed his seat, preferring to have the sun in his own 
face rather than in the child's ; he patiently held his head 
when he fell asleep, and carefully protected him from the 
black motes which are so annoying in the cars. 

I truly believe Leslie was the happiest person in the 
cars that day, because he was least selfish ; he was so much 
occupied attending to the comfort of the little one, as to 
entirely forget himself, and consequently his own troubles. 
That was the secret of the day's pleasure, and of the kind 
words and looks which all gave him who saw his unsel- 
fishness. I can answer for Bertie's mamma, that she 



108 



AT HOME AND ABROAD 



blessed the lad in her heart, and will never forget his 

kindness. When we reached M , Leslie said — "It 

has been a pleasant day, papa, has it not ?" The weary 
passengers who heard him smiled ; but all acknowledged 
he had deserved the day shonld be a pleasant one to 
him. 




CHAPTEE XXIY. 

OBSERVATIONS DURING A VISIT. 

BEFOEE relating what I have observed, when visiting, 
I wish to give some hints in regard to the conduct 
proper for a person, when entertained as a guest in a 
friend's family. 

I have known a lady, by birth, I mean, for you will 
soon think she was no lady in reality, who would take ad- 
vantage of the intimacy allowed her in times of sickness, 
when we are all more or less dependent on the kind 
services of friends, to find out all the most secret affairs 
of the family, and noise them abroad, with additions of 
her own, making, oftentimes, very scandalous stories out 
of quite innocent matters. The privacy of a family should 
be sacred to all who enter its bounds. There are mistakes 
made, scenes occurring, and words spoken in every house- 
hold, which, if told to the world, would make endless 
mischief and unhappiness. There is apt to be so much 
misapprehension, and stories of this kind gain so much in 
relating, that the best way is to make it a rule to tell 
nothing you have seen or heard, unless you are very sure 
that it is a trifling matter, containing no germ of sorrow 

(103) 



110 

or trouble to any one. A scandal-monger, like the per- 
son I have referred to, might well be punishable by 
law. 

Some families are much more unguarded than others, 
and in such there should be more care exercised by the 
guest, not to learn or hear anything which the Avorld 
might not know, and when such sight and hearing are 
involuntary, to keep a double guard over their lips in 
reference to it. It would be a wretched return for hospi- 
tality, thus to violate the most sacred obligations which 
can possibly be imposed upon you. 

Children consider it " mean" "to tell tales out of school." 
This is the principle, in its full working, which the guest 
must observe towards the family where he is entertained. 

In whatever I may have to say, therefore, of families 
where I have visited, you will observe that I report only 
what may serve as useful lessons for my young readers ; 
and that in doing so, I give you such fictitious names of 
persons, places, &c, that no delicacy is violated by what 
I disclose. 

I once spent a summer in a family where there were 
two or three children, who had the advantage of continual 
and excellent instruction from loving and sensible parents. 
I was desirous of seeing how far it was possible for young 
people to do right, under such circumstances. In writing 
this book, I have gone upon the supposition that parents 
and teachers can effect little unless the young people give 
them the assistance of docile, willing spirits, co-operating 



HOW TO BEHAVE. Ill 

with them in all their efforts to improve the manners, 
mind and hearts of their young charges. It was thus 
that I accounted for the faults found in Ellen, Henry, and 
" Puss ;" in spite of their good mother's counsels, they 
were careless of their own improvement, and made all 
her attempts to benefit them only "up-hill work." 

The oldest daughter of Mrs. Larcom was ten years old, 
and was learning music. Every morning was heard, 
"Ellen, it is time that you were practising." 

" Yes, mother. Just wait a minute for me, I am so 
sleepy ;" and then she proceeded with her dressing at such 
an indolent rate, that half an hour was usually gone from 
her practice time before she took her seat at the piano. I 
was sitting on the piazza one morning, near the window 
where the piano stood, and heard Ellen talking to her- 
self in an under tone : 

" There, I wish I was not learning music ! What a 
plague it is ; and mother thinks I must sit here three hours, 
every day. I am sure two, or even one, would answer. 
She never studied music, and she don't know anything 
about how much time is necessary to learn to play well. 
Don't Harriet Evans play well ? and I heard her say she 
never practised more than an hour and a half a day. Miss 
Chandler says three hours — and so mother insists upon it — 
but 111 not do it ; that's a fact." 

How much I pitied her mother. And I sighed for the 
wilful girl who could indulge such a bad spirit. 

Next older was a boy of twelve. He was a manly boy, 



112 

who loved to study, and was ambitious to bring home a 
perfect report every month from his school teacher. He 
was a good boy at home, generally ; I do not think he 
would wilfully have done what was wrong or disrespect- 
ful ; but he sometims failed in the proper respect one 
should show to his parents — particularly to his father, 
who was not a stern man, and of whom Henry was by 
no means afraid. The beautiful trait in childhood and 
youth, of reverence for age, which induces a respectful 
manner, when in company with one whose character and 
age demand such repect, seemed wanting in his otherwise 
excellent character. Like all boys, he had certain rude 
and uncouth ways of making noises and gestures, and 
giving vent general \y to a high flow of. animal spirits, 
which, if exhibited only when among his boyish compan- 
ions, would be very entertaining, I doubt not. But these 
noises were heard about the house and in the parlor, and 
the decorum of the table was sometimes violated by 
master Henry's antics. In all this he meant no wrong. 
I am sure he loved his father, and would not fail in a 
proper respect for him, were it not from his boyish care- 
lessness. Some day when Henry is old, and has boys 
around him, he will see the propriety and beauty of a 
more respectful and filial manner and course of personal 
conduct. He needed then to become more thoughtful 
and respectful, and less rude and boisterous in his gener- 
al manner. 

One more person shall be named. She was called 



HOW TO BEHAVE. 113 

" Puss," as children sometimes are in Southern families. 
She was about eight years old, and being the youngest 
child, had been petted a great deal. She sat by her 
mamma at the table, and sometimes exhibited an awkward 
shyness in asking for what she desired — expressing her 
wishes only in an almost unintelligible manner. She 
had another and opposite fault at the table. She often 
forgot her shyness, and expressed her opinion of the 
various dishes on the table in as loud a voice as any one. 
She told what she liked, and how she liked it, and thus 
called the attention of all to her preferences. This was 
not desirable in an older person, and was particularly 
improper in a little girl. Of course the first fault showed 
itself chiefly whenever there were guests at the table, and 
the latter when she was alone with the family. 

Now " Puss" was a good girl ; she was generally 
obedient and kind and respectful to those older than 
herself; she took good care of her play-things, and was 
neat in her dress. If she had not been very lazy about 
getting up to prayers in the morning, and if she would 
have corrected these table faults, I should have found 
considerable to praise in little u Puss." 




CHAPTER XXV. 

THE CHILDREN'S VISIT TO THE COUNTRY. 

JULIA and Frank Ellerton had an uncle, the brother 
of their father, who lived in the county. When 
Julia was about ten years old, and Frank was twelve, Mr. 
and Mrs. Ellerton went to the North to spend the summer, 
and the children were sent out to " Uncle Frank's," to re- 
main during the absence of their parents. It was in the 
beautiful month of June. The country wore its most at- 
tractive garb: the woods were rich in their wealth of 
foliage, and the lanes were rendered shady and cool by 
the overarching boughs of the noble trees. Occasionally 
they crossed a rivulet or " branch" as " Dad July" the old 
carriage driver, called the little streams. The water flow 
ed clear and bright, on the sparkling sand and pebbles ; 
sometimes when the horses stopped to drink at these 
streams, the children were allowed to get out and run on 
a little way in advance, especially if there was a hill to 
go up. 

Their Uncle Frank, who had come down to town for 
them, encouraged them in this fine exercise of running 

[114] 



HOW TO BEHAVE. 115 

and walking — and young Frank was extremely happy ; all 
Ike beauty of the scene was enjoyed by him. His spirits 
rose and his heart beat joyfully, when in the early morning 
the leaves, and grass and wayside weeds, sparkled in the 
sun's rays, before the heat had drunk up the dewy gems 
which adorned them. The songs of the birds were heard 
all around them, and involuntarily his lips uttered a song 
of praise, as if, in unison with the birds, he blessed the 
Creator of this loveliness ; the fresh breezes exhilarated 
him, and a genial spirit of pleasure pervaded his whole 
being. Thus too, at noon, when they stopped in the 
shady woods to lunch, and to allow the tired horses to rest 
during the heat of the day, then stretching himself on the 
cool mossy ground, Frank listened to the busy hum of a 
thousand insects flitting about in the sunshine, or to the 
murmuring leaves, or the music of some gentle rill which 
was stealing along through the woods. Such sounds were 
melody to him, and if they soothed and charmed him to 
sleep, they also inspired him with happy dreams. 

Again, when evening was coming on, how beautiful the 
hour to Frank ; the gathering gloom of the old woods, the 
sighing and moaning through the trees of the night wind, 
the distant scream of a bird of darkness ; all these in- 
duced in him meditation ; and a dim vision of, he scarce 
knew what, came around him, peopling the gloom with the 
forms of his friends from whom he was separated, or with 
the spirits of those whose acquaintance he had made in 
history and in fiction. Thus was Frank always happy in 



116 

his own feelings, as aroused by the surrounding circum- 
stances. It mattered little to him that his uncle was some- 
times wrapped up in thoughts of his business, which dis- 
inclined him to converse, or that Julia was ill-tempered 
and peevish and continually making complaints. 

How differently Julia spent the time the journey occu- 
pied ! When Frank and herself walked up the hills, Julia 
was " so tired," and " so warm and thirsty." Then the 
pebbles in the road " hurt her feet," and the sun was 
" burning her face." In the morning she grumbled be- 
cause she had to get up so early, and " everything was wet 
with the hateful dew;" and when they stopped in the 
woods at noon, " the flies stung her, and black bugs crawl- 
ed up on her," and a " great nasty toad almost hopped on 
her." As the evening came on, she was always complain- 
ing of being tired, and every other moment she would 
start and clasp Frank's arm, and say she was sure she 
heard some one coming behind them softly, to rob and 
murder them. When they stopped for the night at a re- 
spectable but plain country house, she could not eat " the 
black, hard biscuit, and her coffee was muddy ;" besides a 
thousand faults which she found with the way in which 
things were served. 

All this mortified and annoyed Frank very much, and 
he sought by his own good humored cheerfulness, to make 
amerfds for her ill temper, and tried to hide it from her 
uncle's notice. The grandfather of these children had 
been a planter ; Mr. Frank Ellerton, their uncle, had a 



HOW TO BEHAVE. 117 

fancy for a country life, and lived yet on the same planta- 
tion on which he had grown up from infancy — he led the 
happy and independent life of a wealthy well educated 
country gentleman. His brother, the father of these chil- 
dren, had gone from the college where both brothers were 
educated, to the study and practice of law, and had thus 
led a city life. The children had not been into the coun- 
try so far before, since they were very small. We have 
seen what circumstances induced this visit, and of what 
different dispositions were Frank and Julia. 

After a journey of three days, they reached " Frank 
Farm," as the place was called. You will see that the 
name of " Frank" was a favorite one in the family. Old 
Mr. Ellerton used to say, its Saxon signification of ' free, 
fearless, brave and honest,' made it a noble name, and he 
was proud to have it a family name, as he desired its signi- 
fication to be a family characteristic. They found at Frank 
Farm the wife and three daughters of their uncle, (he had 
no sons,) and also their venerable grandfather, and were 
received with such a cordial welcome, as should have for- 
ever banished all fault-finding from Julia's lips. This, I 
grieve to say, was not the case. At first she only mutter- 
ed to herself, or complained in private to Frank, when 
things did not please her ; but by and by, she would speak 
freely of the petty things which she had not the good sense 
and real politeness to overlook, and which were deficien- 
cies in style to which she had been accustomed. 

" How could her aunt and cousins drink out of a gourd ! 



118 AT HOME AND ABROAD ; OB, 

it made no difference if it was bound with silver and hand- 
somely cut from the cocoa-nut, it was nothing but a gourd, 
and every body drank out of it, and she would not; she 
would always go into the dining room and get a tumbler, 
or one of the girls' silver cups. Then they had corn-bread 
on the table — it scratched her throat and she could not eat 
it, and it was so vulgar to eat cabbage — she never ate any- 
thing but a little cauliflower at home. Sometimes, too, she 
had seen her young cousins eat with steel forks — which 
was the height of vulgarity. 

How could they wear such great clod-hopper shoes, so 
different from her delicate French gaiters ; and the ugly 
calico bonnets, and coarse gloves ! Uncle Frank wore 
brown homespun pantaloons, and a hat which protected 
his face from the sun, it was true, but she would be ashamed 
to own him for her uncle if any of her city friends were 
to see him with it on! They burned candles instead of 
having gas, or solar lamps, and they even made them them- 
selves ! Her aunt and cousins understood how to make 
candles, and to put cloth in the looms, or rather to pre- 
pare the looms for the women tp weave ; they attended to 
the butter churning, and took off the cream for table use. 
They cut out the coarse clothes for the negroes, and taught 
the little negro girls to sew ; each of her cousins was train- 
ing up a seamstress for herself. By and by, they made 
preserves and pickles ; and they put in quilts which they 
had pieced themselves, and helped to quilt them ; they 
made by turns the light bread and cakes, and puddings 



HOW TO BEHAVE. 119 

and pastry for the table. There was no end to the vulgar 
country employments in which they engaged, and she was 
quite disgusted. She longed to return to the elegance and 
refinements of her own home, where such things were 
never heard of, or certainly never talked about. 

She was very much astonished when she found that all 
her cousins could play and sing better than she could, and 
could also play exquisitely on the guitar, and that they had 
all the new music ; and that her uncle had the newspapers, 
and Keviews, and new books in his fine, large library, al- 
most as soon as her papa had them. 

But the greatest astonishment of all was yet to come. 
Her friend Clara Kush, who lived in the city, had con- 
fided to her the secret, that the great statesman, the Hon. 

Mr. , had paid her eldest sister, Cornelia, a great 

deal of attention at the springs, the summer before, and 
she believed Cornelia thought she had secured him for a hus- 
band, for he danced, and walked and rode with her. Ellen 
Ellerton, Julia's oldest cousin, had also spent a month at 
the springs, and had often been of their party, but she 
dressed so plainly, and never waltzed or polkaed, so of 
course he did not pay her much attention. But in Sep- 
tember, the extraordinary preparations bespoke something 
more than the expected visit of her parents, who were 
then to come for the children. Yes I " Cousin Ellen" was 
then to be. married, and was going to Europe with her 
husband, who had a foreign appointment, and was no other 
than the Hon. Mr, ! Julia was aghast ! There was 



120 



AT HOME AND ABKOAD. 



something she could not understand. How could the sim- 
ple manners of Ellen Ellerton attract before all the style 
of Cornelia Eush? Those country girls whom she so de- 
spised, must possess some secret attraction she could not 
comprehend. Can you guess what it was, young friends ? 




CHAPTER XXVI. 



THE UNGUARDED LOOK. 



66 U THY, in the world, does Agnes Haight treat me 
T T with so much coolness ?" asked a lively young 
girl of her companion, as they one day passed the resi- 
dence of the lady of whom they were speaking. 

" Why ; have you observed any special coldness of 
late? I thought you liked her, Anna, and that she re- 
turned the kindly feeling," said the friend. 

" So I do like her ; it's true she puts on a great many 
airs, considering what her early life was ; but then — " 

" I do not agree with you, that she ' puts on airs,' An- 
na. She is very dignified and lady-like, and converses 
well, and I see no assumption of the lady in her manner, 
which she does not fully and consistently maintain." 

"Oh, Maria ! where should she learn anything about 
good manners, and what does she know of good society, 
that she presumes to give her opinion upon it? You know 
very well she never had any training at home, and since 
she was grown — " 

"Pardon my interrupting you again, Anna. She has 

121 



122 AT HOME AND ABROAD ; OR, 

had good opportunities to know what good society is> 
You know she was at a large, well-governed school for 
several years, where her mind received a degree of culti- 
vation which would fit her for any sphere ; it is true the 
graces learned there, were chiefly intellectual; but her 
mind was so strengthened and disciplined as to give tone 
to her character. The mere conventional forms of society, 
its superficial dictum and observances do not require years 
of profound investigation and study. Agnes Haight was 
a refined woman when she left school, though she was 
quite uninitiated in the ways of the world. You know 
she went South immediately, and taught in the school of 
Mrs. Adair. She had the oldest young ladies of the school 
in her classes, for she was well fitted to give them belles- 
lettres instruction, and also to teach the modern languages. 
Some of these young ladies were already entering into 
society. They belonged to wealthy, refined families, and 
were remarkable for elegant manners. Agnes was very 
observant. She needed scarcely a hint from others. She 
appreciated the good breeding and elegance which sur- 
rounded her, and instinctively became elegant, easy, and 
graceful, as well as dignified and agreeable. Besides this 
unconscious training, she had the benefit of the constant 
society and example of Mrs. Adair, one of the most ele- 
gant and high-bred women I ever saw — for I became 
very well acquainted with her during her long visits to the 

North, paid in the family of her brother, Kev. Dr. ." 

11 And so you say that Agnes Haight is a perfect lady, 



HOW TO BEHAVE. 123 

in spite of all we know of her childhood, when she was 
surrounded by poverty, and saw nothing of the refine- 
ments of polished society ?" 

"Yes, I do, Anna. Miss Haight is just as well quali- 
fied to speak upon such subjects now as any one I know. 
Much better qualified to do it than any one whose social 
advantages have been limited to this little town. She 
has, for many years past, mingled in the best society of the 
South, and, indeed, of most of the northern cities. She 
is, as I have remarked, observant, and quick in percep- 
tion ; very discriminating, very refined, and has had years 
of practice in the social graces. There is no trace of vul- 
garity about her — supposing she were born with it, or 
contracted it from early association — and you (don't be 
offended, Anna) and I, and most of the young people 
in this goodly town, might be taught by her." 

"Maria, I cannot agree with you." 

" I know it, and lament it ; for it only argues your own 
blindness and inability to see of what striking advantage 
she might be to you. Why, Anna, she has moved, with 
honor, surrounded by the admiration of all who observed 
her, in brilliant and elevated circles, which we might be 
happy to peep into." 

" Where did you learn so much of her?" 

"From those who knew her in the South; from my 
ow r n observation of her in society, and from a thousand 
evidences which are given by the letters she receives ; by 
the numerous presents which reach her, and by the 



124 

pressing invitations which, coming from most attractive 
parties, making it a matter of principle, rather than choice, 
that keeps her in this dull, little place, where she is totally 
unappreciated, and where she is liable to be ' snubbed' by 
those who are so much inferior to her." 

"You are very severe, Maria. I have not 'snubbed' 
her, as you call it." 

" You have forgotten it, my dear; but I will recall it 
to your mind. Do you remember one evening, when I 
was speaking of something she had told me, and giving 
some of her lively comments on society and its forms? 
You glanced towards your mother, with an expression 
upon your countenance of the most ineffable contempt. 
' The idea of Agnes Haight making such strictures !' it 
seemed to say. Your mother returned it with a look of 
sympathy ; nothing was said, for Mrs. Haight was in the 
room. You supposed the glances were unseen ; but I 
unfortunately observed them, and — so did Mrs. Haight ; 
from her mother, not from myself, she heard of it. Do 
you wonder that she does not feel very cordial ?" 

" I am sorry if any mischief was made. I certainly 
would not have said what I thought, and what my glance, 
to mamma, expressed. I did think she made great pre- 
tensions, considering who she was." 

"But she made those remarks to me, knowing that 
I would appreciate them, and that I understood the right 
she had to make them, /was wrong in repeating them, 
when they were not appreciated." 



HOW TO BEHAVE. 125 

"Oh, Maria! you make me feel so small and contempt- 
ible ; what a lesson this will be to me. 

" I hope so, my dear Annie. Learn two things from 
it. In the first place, learn to control your countenance 
better. ETever express by it what you would not wish to 
say in words. I am not the only person in the world 
who reads expressions quickly and truly. As much pain 
is often given by a look as by words. You know when 
Jesus found it necessary to reprove Peter, for his gross 
falsehood, ' he turned and looked at him, and Peter went 
out and wept bitterly.' Thus you see, how much can be 
expressed by the countenance, and how necessary it is to 
gain a control over that, as well as over the tongue." 

"Do you think I am apt to express in my face what I 
would not wish to say ?" 

" I will remind you of another scene, and then you 
shall answer for yourself. Don't you remember when 
your little cousin Harry had that bad wound on his 
shoulder, and that one day you were in the room, when 
the doctor came to see it. His mother did not want you 
to see it — it was necesssary, however, for it to be unban- 
dagecl, and you caught sight of it. It was a dreadfully 
painful sight ; it was indeed disgusting to any one who had 
so little sympathy for the child as to allow such a sensa- 
tion to mingle with the emotions which were necessarily 
awakened. For myself, I only thought — 'poor darling 
little Harry' — what you thought I will not judge ; but 
your countenance, as you turned away, wore such an ex- 



126 

pression of disgust upon it, as made Mrs. Arden feel very 
uncomfortable." 

"I would not have pained aunt Ellen for the world, 
Maria. I did pity Harry, ana herself, too, for she had a 
tedious time with the child." 

"Well, then, you must remember not to suffer your 
countenance to wear such expressions. I would quite as 
soon see a disgusting sight, as a face expressing that feel- 
ing. It is often unkind, very often impolite thus to show 
sensations which are only disagreeable to yourselves and 
others. A pleasant smile does, on the contrary, more 
good, many a time, than a pleasant word ; it is so often 
an involuntary thing, that we have come to regard the 
countenance as a better test of sincerity than the tongue." 

" You have given me some ideas which I had never 
before entertained. Do try again, dear Maria, and think 
up some of my errors in this respect. You are my good 
genius I believe." 

" Thank you, Anna ; if I do you any good it will be be- 
cause you take so kindly what I say in regard to your 
faults. I will remind you then of one thing more. When 
we were in New York last fall, we were one day in a very 
crowded omnibus ; do you recall the particular time 2" 

" I believe I do. We had been down town, and it was 
towards evening when those omnibuses go up so crowded. 
But I am quite unconscious of committing any grave 
offence that day." 

" You were very much annoyed, however, when a coarse 



HOW TO BEHAVE. 127 

looking man, who had been eating onions, took the only 
spare seat, just beside you." 

" Oh yes, that was shocking, especially as it was so 
windy and cold, that all the windows were closed." 

11 Your face expressed your disgust very plainly. He 
was vexed by the look you wore, and sat nearer to you 
and turned his face toward you much more than was ac- 
tually necessary — and his purpose was to annoy you, for 
you had aroused bad feelings in him by that shrug of 
your shoulders and curl of your lip." 

" I comprehend all you mean me to, Maria. I will not do 
such things again you may be very sure. But I am not 
alone in doing wrong in this way. I remember as if it 
were yesterday, seeing much mischief done once by a look. 
I was a very young girl, it is true ; but I heard so much of 
the affair that it made quite an impression upon me." 

" You know we used to board at Mrs. Tngersoll's, and 
she had two very pretty and quite accomplished daugh- 
ters. Gerald Acton, the wealthy young Englishman, who 
afterwards married Emma Sandes, was just then engaged 
to Bell Ingersoll, who was worth a dozen Emmas in 
everything but dollars. One day, at the table, a servant 
carried to young Acton a piece of pudding covered with 
sauce, which Mrs. Ingersoll herself had made. He ate a 
little of it, and then pushed the plate from him with such 
an expression of almost loathing on his face, that Mrs. 
Ingersoll, who chanced to be looking towards him could 
not but see it. Of course she was annoyed — then angry ; 



128 AT HOME AND ABROAD; OR, 

by-and-by something was said about it. Acton made 
no apology ; indeed, he said something which was insult- 
ing to Mrs. Ingersoll, who was a well-born and well-bred 
woman, though her husband's death had left her very 
poor. Bell resented the insult — and it ended in their en- 
gagement being broken off. It is true Bell did much bet- 
ter in marrying Mr. Haroldson, who had wit as well as 
wealth, but I believe Gerald Acton repents that unguarded 
look to this day, whenever he thinks of the superbly ele- 
gant Mrs. Haroldson." 

" Yery well Anna, dear ; now just remember how 
much good or ill a glance may do, and be more guarded 
another time." 







CHAPTEE XXVII. 

IS WORK DEGRADING? 

MAY I claim your attention again, young friends, to 
a s abject which is often very erroneously con- 
sidered by persons of your age ? I have referred to it 
frequently ; it is based on the golden rule, and it is for 
the consideration of the girl in the embroidered muslin, as 
much as for her in the calico dress and check apron. 

Is service degrading ? By service is meant any kind of 
aid or assistance which can be rendered to those around 
us. Is it vulgar to be usefully employed ? Is it menial 
to take care of your own room, to aid in keeping the 
house neat, even to go into the kitchen to cook, if neces- 
sary; or to iron, or to clear-starch your own muslins, when 
you get old enough for such things ? I think not. 1 call 
the pride which disdains such things vulgar, and the indo- 
lence which fears the effort contemptible, 

I do not think it of much advantage to the intellect to 
engage in such occupations, but it is a healthful recreation 
after study ; it has its own beneficial effect in conquering 
self-indulgence, and in exercising the faculties of observa- 

S* 



130 

tion and judgment. It makes people considerate, thought- 
ful, careful, which are womanly attributes ; it encourages 
neatness and order, which are lady-like. It promotes 
good will and kindly feelings, and answers and strength- 
ens loving impulses. It is a moral and physical influence 
for good. 

I have a friend who has not the means of hiring a ser- 
vant ; she does everything for her household that can 
contribute to their health or comfort or happiness. Her 
house is neat, her table well supplied, her children prop- 
erly cared for ; and when evening comes and she sits by 
her little work-table repairing the wardrobes of the family, 
while her husband reads aloud to her some well- written 
book, I will dare to say her appreciation of it is equal to that 
of the most refined and elegant lady you can name. In- 
deed, the healthy tone of her mind, its strong, clear sense, 
its quickness and freshness, lend a zest to the pleasure 
which I fear the languid lady can never know. 

When such service is not nesded, it is no sin not to give 
it. But the less J'ou do for others or yourself, the less 
you are inclined to do. It is so much easier to ask a ser- 
vant for a glass of water, or to get you a book ; it is so 
/ much easier, aye, and more lady -like you think, I know, 
to ring a bell for a servant to bring your guest refresh- 
ments, or to assist her in removing her things. " It is 
a servant's place to do such things ; it is ungraceful and 
fussy and vulgar to do them yourself," you say. 1 think 
the most graceful thing in the world is the yielding of 



HOW TO BEHAVE. 131 

such service to one you love or respect. I think the 
lady who degrades herself by such service has a very thin 
covering of lady-hood over an innately vulgar nature. 
She is afraid to stoop lest this vulgarity be evident. If 
she is too much of a lady to take care of her own room, 
if necessary, she is sufficiently vulgar to be willing to be 
surrounded by slovenliness. 

" The windows might be so dirty that I could not see 
through them, and I would never wash them," said a 
young girl one day. 

"My dear," I thought — she would not brook my say- 
ing it to her — "your dirty windows are vulgar, not your 
careful friend who desires to make them bright and 
clean." 

Which is the lady, she who sits by an untidy hearth all 
day, or she who brushes or wipes it clean before she will 
sit by it ? — she who carefully dusts her room, or she who 
hastily puts on a dress which has left " carelessness" writ- 
ten upon the half-wiped chair or upon the bedstead 
where it hung ? 

Which is the lady, she who calls up the weary maid-of- 
all-work from the kitchen to wait upon her, or she who 
goes into the kitchen and assists the tired girl at the iron- 
ing table ? 

I want to tell you of two circumstances which come, 
at this moment, to my memory, to assist you in your de- 
cision. 

I knew two young ladies, cousins, in the South. Their 



132 

family was highly respectable, well connected, but im- 
poverished. Ann was visiting at her uncle's. They 
could keep only two servants, who had all their, time 
occupied by necessary house-hold labor. The weather 
was such as belongs to July. Fannie went down to the 
ironing room one day in every week, and spent most of 
this day over Ann's ruffles, white muslin dress and innu- 
merable skirts. They were equally well educated, and in 
the evening they were equally well dressed and well 
looking ; but Fannie, whose active, energetic nature was 
quickened by her healthful exercise — whose heart was 
glowing with true womanly life and love — was the charm 
of the group in the drawing-room. Fresh, vivid, spark- 
ling, her clear, just ideas of life were charming, her 
piquancy most captivating. Was she less a lady than the 
gentle, languidly -graceful Annie ? > 

Once I had the happiness of spending an evening in a 
singularly-interesting family. The mother was a lady of 
noble foreign birth. She had been brought up at a court, 
educated with the king's nieces, married a man of equally 
noble family, with her own; her oldest child was born 
heir to a princely estate, and was cradled in extreme 
luxury. But adversity came. The husband fell into 
disgrace ; the estate was confiscated ; he fled to save his 
life, and the lady and her little one fled with him. 

When I knew them the husband was again in Europe, 

and Madame sustained herself, and her now three 

children, in a happy competency by teaching. I met at 



HOW TO BEHAVE. 133 

her house — for she was recognized in the highest circles 
of the city as a lady — some of the most elegant and culti- 
vated persons I have ever known. We had most excel- 
lent music on the harp, piano, and violin ; all the family 
excelled as musicians. 

Madame had collected a choice library of five 

hundred volumes in the various modern languages, in all 
of which she was skilled. 

She conversed charmingly, and her daughters were 
becoming her rivals in accomplishments and graces. 

There were two servants employed about the house- 
hold, but none appeared in the drawing-room that evening 
except once. When refreshments were to be served, they 
deposited two trays on a side table, and from them Hein- 
rich, Nina and Angelique supplied the company. They 
brought on smaller trays the dainty cups of chocoldt, and 
the delicate cakes and bonbons. A Southern lady to whom 
this appeared strange, remarked it to another. Madame 
heard this almost involuntary remark, 

"It is a custom which I find to be peculiar to my own 
country, but it pleases me to retain it here. When we 
wished to show honour to a guest in our own chateau, 
my father, my husband, or myself, for I was an only 
child, served him with the wine-cup, and suffered no me- 
nial to do anything for him. My children allow the ser- 
vants to do as little as possible for myself, and they recip- 
rocate all kindly offices amongst each other." 

I knew this family for several years. The eldest girl— 



134 AT HOME AND ABROAD; OR, 

she who had opened her eyes to this world under a silken 
canopy, and whose apparelings had been the richest laces 
and embroideries — she, whom servants without number 
had vied with each other in serving — was now the little 
housekeeper. Every morning she went to market, she 
transacted for her mother all her out-door business, kept 
her books of accounts, attended to the comfort of the 
boarding pupils and to the family wardrobe. 

In the course of a few years, Madame 's health 

failed. Her girls kept up the school as well as they 
could, but the strictest economy became necessary. One 
servant was dismissed, and Angelique and Nina took her 
place about the house. Angelique, the elder, became the 
milliner and dressmaker for the others. They were 
young, but they taught, worked, laboured for their mo- 
ther, each other, and their young brother. 

They have become noble women in such a sense as 
mere accidents of birth or circumstance could never enno- 
ble them. They are ladies in every sense of this word. 
What says the little miss whose white hands never touched 
a broom or a duster, whose delicate shoes were never 
soiled on a wet pavement, who is vainly ignorant of all 
kitchen details, who could not make up a fire, or brush 
up a hearth, or remove finger marks from a door, or burn- 
ish the brass, or clear-starch her muslins? Which is 
the lady, she or Angelique ? 






CHAPTEE XXYIII. 

WHAT EDITH DID IN THE COUNTRY. 

IT was very warm weather in August, and the parents 
of Edith Woodleigh decided that it would be much 
better for their lovely and delicate little daughter to leave 
the city for a few weeks, and pay meanwhile a visit to 
her father's aunt, an old lady living in a small country 
town, on the banks of the Hudson. Edith was delighted. 
She liked her elegant home in the city, with its luxurious 
appliances, and she took great pleasure in the slow drive 
with her mother down the gay Broadway, or out upon 
the Fifth Avenue or the Bloomingdale road. She was 
quite at home in the old "Parade Ground," which had 
been her haunt since she was carried there a baby in Su- 
san's arms ; and on the pleasant paths of Union Square, 
where she was in the habit of meeting her young com- 
panions, as they went to or returned from school. Edith 
herself had a governess at home, and hence enjoyed these 
casual meetings with those of her own age the more. 

Still Edith was glad she was going out of town. She 
would be without mamma, who was going to Newport for 
her health, and to please her husband, who was very 

(135) 



136 

proud still, of his beautiful wife. She would be without 
Miss Wyld, who was to pay a visit to her own family, 
and she begged even to be allowed to dispense with Su- 
san's attendance. The little lady was evidently intent on 
a plan of her own ; we will see what it was. 

Her father and mother accompanied her to Aunt Es- 
ther's, and after spending a day or two there, left her, a 
little amused at her dignified denial of any intention on 
her part of getting lonely, -or tired of the country, or of 
waiting on herself. 

c< Who will look after your clothes, Edith ?" said Mrs. 
"Woodleigh, " and keep them mended and in order? Who 
will awaken you in the morning, and fasten your dresses 
and tie your sashes ? Who will be plagued with keeping 
such locks as these out of tangle and in curl ?" 

" We will look after that, won't we, Aunt Esther?" re- 
plied the little girl. "I think I have just as good hands 
to work with as any one else, and I would as soon curl 
my own hair, and learn to fasten my own dresses, as to 
have to be dependent on the time or will or good-nature 
of servants, for I cannot have my good Susan always, you 
know, mamma." 

"Oh very well. Miss Independence," said her father 
laughingly, " be anything but rude and ill-natured and 
troublesome, and we will see how much you can learn." 

Aunt Esther was not poor, but she lived alone, in rather 
a small house, simply furnished, and had no servants to 
wait on her. The labour of the small household fell upon 



HOW TO BEHAVE. 137 

a distant relative, whom she had taken years before to 
live with her, and who was much more a companion than 
a servant. She occupied herself much about the house, 
and found it pleasant and healthful to do so. Aunt Es- 
ther was very warm-hearted, most charitably disposed to 
all ; and though she never had children of her own, she pos- 
sessed a true woman's heart, which opened spontaneously 
to the claims of childhood. She had had at least a score 
of proteges in the past thirty years ; some had died ; some 
grown up to womanhood and settled far from her, still 
turned with reverence to the guardian and guide of their 
girlhood. Others, prepared by means of her wide-open 
purse for the situations, had become teachers, governesses, 
and otherwise fitted to do good, and provide for themselves. 
Such had been Aunt Esther's manner of benefitting others ; 
and so that her house was supplied with comforts and 
conveniences, she, with her resources of heart and intel- 
lect, could well dispense with luxuries and elegancies. 

Edith knew how the old lady lived, and with the quiet, 
delicate tact peculiar to herself, she knew precisely how 
to adapt herself to the surrounding circumstances. She 
was ready for her breakfast at six o'clock in the morning, 
though in town her breakfast hour was eight o'clock. She 
made her own toilette, as completely as though she had 
Susan's assistance, except that Miss Sarah had to fasten 
her dress ; then, when she went to breakfast, she opened 
her windows and turned back her bed-clothes, as Aunt 
Esther did, to air them and the room. 



138 AT HOME AND ABROAD; OR, 

After breakfast she tried to put her room in order, 
though Miss Sarah came in to do it. Edith would only 
allow her to show her how to do it, and the first morning 
she made the bed up twice over, to get the counterpane as 
straight and true and the pillows as even and high as pos- 
sible. Every particle of dust was scrupulously wiped from 
the table, mantel, chairs and bureau, and the wash-stand 
was left in the most tidy condition. 

All this accomplished, she sought out Aunt Esther and 
Miss Sarah ; if she found them in their beautifully neat 
kitchen, she would beg to be allowed to wipe the cups 
and plates, or polish the glasses and spoons ; or she would 
sit down on a little stool and shell beans, husk corn, assist 
in preparing fruit for the table, or in anything else in 
which she could aid. 

" Hands were made for use, were they not, Aunt Es- 
ther ?" she laughingly asked one day, when trying to re- 
move the stains left by some berries she had been looking 
over. " They will come white again in good season, and 
Miss Wyld will not know they were ever stained." 

" You are a curious child, Edith," said Miss Sarah. " I 
would keep my hands white if I were in your place. 
What do you want to do kitchen work for ?" 

" Oh, Miss Sarah, you know I make you a little more 
work and trouble, careful as I can be ; and besides, if I 
do not, I should want to help you when I see you have so 
much to do." 

" You are a nice child anyhow, Edith. You are a good 



HOW TO BEHAVE. 139 

deal more of a lady than if you had stuck-up city airs, 
and turned up your nose at country people's plain 
ways." 

" I like such ways, Miss Sarah. In the first place, it is 
so charming to be here with the fresh, sweet air blowing 
through those morning-glory vines, and the birds sing- 
ing in the old horse-chesnut tree before the door, and 
the sound of the brook babbling down in the hol- 
low. Oh, it's a thousand times nicer than our house 
in town, with such little close tucked-up garden and nar- 
row nagwalk." 

" But then you like handsome furniture and curtains 
and carpets, I know, Edith, and here it's very plain." 

" Well, now you have finished peeliug those potatoes, 
Miss Sarah, and have nothing else to do here till it is time 
to put your dinner on, just come, sit down in the sitting- 
room, and see if it's not easy to have pretty things any 
where." 

Miss Sarah was soon seated in a low sewing chair by 
the open door, with her invariable "white work" in her 
hands, which did not know how to be still a moment. 
Edith established herself near her, in Aunt Esther's chair, 
the old lady having gone to her own room for a little 
while. 

" Now see, Miss Sarah, does not the table look better 
with the cloth hanging down so far, making it look ample 
and graceful, and just showing the pretty curve at the end 



140 

of the table-leg instead of the long thin leg itself. Is not 
the celery-glass doing just as well standing on it with those 
few flowers in it, as put up in the closet all summer ? 
There, now my open work-box is pretty on Aunt Esther's 
light stand ; and this is a darling old arm-chair, just like 
the antique furniture every body raves about now-a- 
days." 

Miss Sarah looked up as she was directed to do, and 
confessed to the added grace of the room; but her eye lin- 
gered longest on a part of the picture which Edith left 
out. She, the fair, sweet, graceful Edith, with her exqui- 
site head bending over some work she had found, one 
small slippered foot showing, and her round white arm 
raised with the large needle in her hand. This was the 
prettiest picture, she felt, and that presence alone was 
enough to give any place an air of elegance. 

" "What are you sewing, Edith ?" 

" Oh don't look now, if you please, Miss Sarah. I am 
just learning to darn, and I thought I could do it well 
enough to darn the long rent in Aunt Esther's old clothes- 
pin bag, so I brought it in for that purpose." 

" You comical, old-fashioned child. What grace do 
you find in darning ; you who want to do graceful things, 
and make useful things graceful all the time ?" 

" You know if I could not darn well, I must some- 
times have to throw away good and beautiful things, or 
wear them with great rents in them. Susan cannot darn 
neatly ; and I have heard mamma often say it was a pity, 



HOW TO BEHAVE. 141 

and wish she had learned to do it when she was younger. 
Now Miss Sarah, I am just determined to know how to 
do everything that I am strong enough to do. Then I 
shall always be able to take care of myself, and make other 
people comfortable. I want to be at home any where ; I 
want to learn all I can from Aunt Esther and from your- 
self. Why, Aunt Esther was brought up with servants 
to wait on her, and had masters to teach her music and 
painting and dancing, and had to learn all these things 
when she was older, and understood better how to spend 
ker money, than on servants and fine things. I heard 
papa and mamma talk about it. They admire her 
very much, though they live so differently ; and I made 
up my mind last winter to come here this summer, and 
learn all I could from you and Aunt Esther, for I want 
to do all a woman can do, and know how to do it well 
too." 

" You talk like a book, Edith, or like an old woman, I 
don't know which. I expect you are all right in what 
you say, but if I had your chance in New York, I guess 
I wouldn't want .to learn how to make beds, and peel po- 
tatoes, and darn old bags." 

" You are a darling child," said Aunt Esther, coming 
out of her own room. " I can *rust you in your city home, 
Edith, with no fear of their spoiling you. It is sensible 
to learn all these things ; and to want to make yourself 
useful and thus make others happy, is one of the noblest 



142 



AT HOME AND ABKOAD. 



impulses of our natures. You will have your mother's 
grace, child, for you inherit that ; and you have a capac- 
ity for usefulness which she laments continually that she 
does not possess." 




CHAPTER XXIX. 

CUKIOUS LUCY. 

LUCY HASTINGS was a gentle girl, generally called 
amiable ; very much liked by her young compan- 
ions, and making very little trouble either at home or 
school. There would have been no exception to this re- 
mark, but for one very decided fault. It could not be de- 
nied that Lucy possessed, in a lamentable degree, the 
great failing which is said to be inherited from our first 
mother. She was tormented with curiosity. 

Lucy was not destitute of a certain amount of tact, 
which, combined with the restraint of her mother's judi- 
cious counsels, enabled her to conceal her unfortunate pro- 
pensity, though she could not conquer it ; still its mani- 
festations more than once involved her in most annoying 
and mortifying situations. 

She would not stand beside or behind you and read a 
letter over your shoulder, for she had been taught that 
this was very ill-bred. But, if she found your desk lying 
open in your room, or your papers scattered about loose- 
ly, she would first make sure she would not be observed, 



144 AT HOME AND ABROAD ; OR, 

and then she would read, at her leisure, every scrap of 
writing from which she could hope to glean any informa- 
tion concerning the people about her, or their affairs. She 
had judgment enough not to use the knowledge thus ob- 
tained, in such a manner as to betray herself, though it 
required' much restraint to prevent the betrayal. She 
really wished not to make mischief, she was only irrejpressi- 
bly curious. 

If left alone in a strange room, she would look behind 
every curtain, open every door, and peep into every 
drawer. She had not the wisdom given by age and ex- 
perience, which would have enabled her to systematize 
her scrutiny, as did the wonderful " Madame Beck," who 
so cunningly possessed herself of every secret in " Yillette," 
but it was from no want of a disposition to do so. 

Mrs. Hastings was sorely tried by Lucy's fault. It was 
so degrading in its effects upon her character, and indi- 
cated so low a mind. She never failed to observe any 
manifestation of her propensity. She refrained from per- 
sonal conversations in her presence. She never, before 
her, expressed any interest in the affairs of others ; and 
Lucy knew if her mother was receiving a friend, she was 
not expected to be present in the room. 

I remember once, when I was a guest of Mrs. Hastings, 
a lady called to see us, of whom Lucy had often heard us 
speak. A loud breathing near the door by which I sat, 
indicated to me, Lucy's presence in the hall, very likely 
with her ear to the key-hole ; and no sooner had the lady 






HOW TO BEHAVE. 145 

left the room to go to her carriage, than Lucy rushed 
through it to the front windows to obtain a glimpse of her. 

Her mother said to her, "My daughter, if it had been 
at all necessary, or even desirable for you to see Mrs. 
Ellison, I would have called you into the room. If she had 
glanced up at these windows while entering the carriage, 
she would have seen Lucy Hastings convicted of a very 
unlady-like act." 

Lucy blushed, and replied that she was only curious to 
see Mrs. Ellison, because she had heard so much of her 
beauty, and her exquisite taste in dress. 

" She has promised to come here one evening this week, 
to be present at an entertainment I have planned. You 
could have seen her to much better advantage then. As 
you have chosen your own time for seeing her, I will ex- 
cuse you from the room on that evening. She may have 
chanced to notice you at the window, and I should dislike 
to introduce to her, as my daughter, one whom she might 
recognize as 'Peeping Tom.'" 

What a sad punishment ! and though not the first or 
the last she had to endure, still Lucy deserved the name 
of " Peeping Tom of Coventry," whose curiosity exceeded 
his reverence for the good Grocliva's heroic sacrifice. 

When I returned to C, in the autumn, I begged Mrs. 
Hastings to allow Lucy to accompany me. 

" If you will risk the consequences to yourselves or 
your friends, I shall not object. But you know all, and 
I need not warn you." 



14b 

I assumed the responsibility willingly ; for I loved her 
mother so tenderly, that I would have suffered much to 
be of any service to Lucy. 

No special event marked our journey ; indeed, Lucy 
was always on her guard, and was as near faultless as 
possible. I was pleased with her, and proud of her ; she 
did not even cast curious glances at her travelling com- 
panions, but passed over all personal peculiarities, or 
oddities of dress, with that apparent absence of obser- 
vation which characterizes the well-bred on such occa- 
sions. 

My husband, and his young brother, a medical student 
just returned from abroad, were charmed with Lucy. My 
husband was aware of her failing, but young Dr. Manners 
saw only the perfection of modest, yet sensible and win- 
ning girlhood. 

" "What will she not be in two years more ?" he whis- 
pered he to me. 

" As faultless as she appears, I trust," I answered. He 
looked surprised, but said nothing more. 

It was very warm still, though late in September. My 
large guest-chamber opened from Dr. Manner's smaller 
room, and he often used it when no guests were there, as 
being cooler than his own. After dinner, Frederic com- 
plained of a headache, and, as I wished him to go out 
with us in the evening, I begged him to go and lie down, 
saying I should do the same myself, as Mr. Manners was 
going out. I knew Lucy had a letter to write to her moth- 



HOW TO BEHAVE. 147 

er, and, therefore, was not troubled to provide for her 
entertainment, during the hours to elapse before tea. 

What passed in that guest-chamber that afternoon, 
Frederic told me months after, in explanation of a pro- 
found indifference to Lucy's attractions, which I observed 
after that day. 

It seems he had lain down on the state bed, and drawn 
the curtains about him, ready for a reviving slumber, 
when the hall-door opened, and Lucy entered very cau- 
tiously, looking around to see that she was alone ; and 
supposing herself to be so, she proceeded to amuse her- 
self for half-an-hour, by inspecting the contents of the 
drawers in the bureau and wardrobe, by examining the 
closets, opening the fancy boxes on the toilet-table, and 
unfolding some fine garments of my own, which were ly- 
ing on a chair. All this was done with such a curious 
scrutiny, and so noiselessly, as to reveal an adept in the 
art of prying. Dr. Manners was astonished beyond mea- 
sure. He had hesitated at first about making his presence 
known, because his toilet was, just then, very anti-Paris- 
ian. He preserved his incognito, because almost too much 
surprised to speak ; and also, that he would not mortify 
Lucy by letting her know he had been a witness to her 
fault. 

Imagine then, his consternation when she drew near 
the bed and held aside the rich curtain which had chiefly 
screened him. He says he met her confounded gaze 
calmly, and almost sadly. She knew in a moment that 



148 

he must have seen her whole performance, and stung with 
mortification, she hastened from the room. 

Would not this have sufficed for the cure of any one ? 
But Lucy appeared incorrigible. One terrible lesson, how- 
ever, seemed at last to prove salutary. 

When the next summer came, I was again visiting Mrs. 
Hastings. The mortifications and reproofs of the year 
before, of which I have given no exaggerated instances, 
had been of service, and I rej Diced in the evident improve- 
ment I observed. 

Once we were invited to pass the evening at the house 
of an English lady, a valued friend of Lucy's mother. I 
supplicated in Lucy's behalf, that she might be allowed to 
accompany us, as she was included in the invitation. 

" Can you remember you are a lady, and not a spy, or 
a police officer, Lucy ?" 

" I will try, mamma." 

" The house is really noted for the rare and beautiful 
things it contains, my daughter. But I am sure that 
everthing Mrs. Erskine is willing for us to see, will be 
placed where we can observe it at our leisure. There will 
be temptations, Lucy ; can you withstand them ?" 

In much confusion, Lucy again promised ; and when 
the appointed evening came, we went to the house of this 
lady, whose husband and sons being in the East Indian 
service, had made their home a curiosity shop. 

Lucy was enchanted. Anna Erskine was assiduous in 
her endeavours to keep her young guest constantly 



UOW TO BEHAVE. 149 

amused, and Lucy wondered and admired, till she was 
spent with, the charming sensations awakened. 

" Here," said Annie, "is mamma's own private cabinet, 
we can open all the drawers, however, but this one," 
pointing to one opening with a spring. 

There they viewed precious stones, costly fans, a tiara 
of jewels which would have become an Indian Begum, 
dainty shells, fine carving, tiny stuffed birds, of wondrous 
brilliancy of plumage ; it was almost a fairy treasury of 
beautiful things. 

" Annie, will you assist me a moment ?" said Mrs. Ers- 
kine, who was trying to make a place for a large portfolio 
of Chinese paintings. 

Annie hastened to her mother's aid, and Lucy was left 
alone for a moment in the alcove, by the cabinet, with that 
private draw in view. "It is just like Uncle Horace's 
cabinet, and I suppose this private drawer opens as his 
does," she said to herself, suiting the action to the word ; 
the spring was pressed, the private drawer flew open, and 
Lucy had only time for a glance at its contents, before 
she was startled by a groan behind her, and she turned to 
see Mrs. Erskine falling in a swoon. 

The lady had come to her cabinet for the key of the 
port-folio, and as she bent over to take it, the open drawer 
met her eye. It was no wonder that she fainted. When 
General Erskine had last gone out to India, he had taken 
with him, as a cadet in his regiment, their youngest son, 
a fair-haired youth, scarcely twenty years of age. In a 



150 AT HOME AND ABROAD. 

year's time, the brave boy was lying beneath that burning 
sun, with a bullet in his temple, and those flaxen curls 
were dabbled with his blood. Such a lock the Spartan 
father sent home to the more tender mother. It was a 
most priceless treasure to the mourning woman ; but one 
she dared not trust herself to look upon, except, when on 
her knees before God — who gave and took from her, her 
boy, — and then she looked on it with a Christian's faith 
and a Christian's resignation. 

Lucy had heard of Walter Erskine's death, she had 
seen him often, and knew the stained curl to be all the 
mother could treasure of her darling. In a moment, the 
whole truth flashed upon her. She buried her face in her 
hands, and crouched on the floor at the door of the cabi- 
net. No one spoke to her ; her " punishment was greater 
than she could bear." 




CHAPTER XXX. 

DIRECTIONS FOR LETTER-WRITING. 

HAPPENING- to look over some very old letters, a 
few days since, I discovered a scrap of pencilled 
paper, containing part of a letter I had written to my 
mother when I was a school-girl, away from home. I was 
but twelve years old when I was first separated from my 
mother, who was my only living parent. It was my habit 
to write to her once a month. I was nearly five hundred 
miles from her, and letters did not go over the country 
then as fast as they do now ; so they were not written so 
frequently. I was not sorry I had such long intervals to 
prepare mine in, for though I loved my mother very much, 
I had a great dread of letter- writing. 

In order to have my letter as correct as possible, I 
frequently used to write what I wished to say, first on a 
slate, or on paper with a pencil, and then copy it. Judg- 
ing from the scraps which I found, my mother must have 
had almost as great a dread of my letters as I had myself, 
for they were shocking productions, so far as hand- writing, 
spelling, and grammar were concerned. What labour it 



152 AT HOME AND ABROAD; OR, 

was to be sure, and how I envied those who possessed a 
facility I have myself now, which enabled them to write 
three or four sheets in a forenoon ! My head throbbed, 
my neck ached, and my fingers were all stiff, and stained 
up with ink, when I had finished half a sheet, which was 
the usual length of my epistles. 

I remember when I was trying to give my letters a 
r c genteel" or graceful look ! I commenced half way 
down the page, or lower still ; I was scrupulous to put the 
date at the end of the letter : I delighted in coloured papers, 
such as pale green, or pink, or blue, and used fancy coloured 
wax. I think, when I had finished, I must have made up 
a very vulgar-looking affair ; " genteel" in the vulgar ac- 
ceptation of the word, but any thing else than elegant or 
graceful ; for I must not omit to mention that the address 
was always crowded close into the lower right hand 
corner. 

My ideas of what is proper and elegant (for I have dis- 
carded the word "genteel" from my vocabulary) have 
changed since I was twelve, or even fifteen years of age. 
I have discovered that there are several essentials — or de- 
sirables, I might say, in place of essentials — which may 
very much aid the effect of a good clear style of chirog- 
raphy. 

Be sure first that your hand-writing is distinct. The 
Italian or running hand is most graceful and lady-like, 
but you must be careful not to sacrifice legibility to grace. 
Very large capital letters are in bad taste for ladies : so 



HOW TO BEHAVE. 153 

are flourishes, which, indeed, are out of place every where, 
unless in a business letter. 

You will find a quill pen, which you can soon learn to 
make for yourself, much pleasanter to use, and more 
conducive to a good hand, than either steel or gold 
pens can be. You can acquire a graceful, character- 
istic style of chirography, with double ease, by using quill 
pens. 

White paper is in better taste than coloured, even than 
the delicate blue, which finds favour with some. The finest 
kind of white paper is called " cream laid," and has a 
softened tinge, that takes away the hard whiteness which 
distinguishes that in common use. 

Envelopes should be of the same colour as the paper, and 
the sheet should always be folded to suit their size. Be 
careful not to put too large or thick sheets into small 
envelopes ; it is in bad taste, and is, like crowding a fat hand 
into a small glove, a clumsy, awkward proceeding. Do 
not use too fine envelopes, when the letter must go through 
the mail ; a plain, strong envelope, is the proper 
one. d± richly stamped envelope, or one with coloured 
flowers or figures upon it, prepared for the post office, is 
very tawdry and vulgar. 

Seals are always most elegant, though they are less in- 
dispensable than they were before the invention of 
" adhesive" or self-sealing envelopes. Ked, or vermilion 
wax, is the best, and most suitable ; not brick red, but the 
bright red of the pomegranate flower. If you use fancy 



154 

seals, select them with reference to the general tone of 
your correspondence, or particular seals for particular 
friends or relatives. You can easily get your own initials 
engraved upon a seal, and that is in very good taste. 
You can also have your initials stamped upon your letter 
paper, note paper and envelopes, in the large cities. Then 
put a white wafer under the stamp in sealing an envelope, 
or use a little red wax at the e dge of the envelope, below 
the stamp. 

Ink must be black ; not red black, or brown black, but 
a good blue black ; neither too pale, nor too thick. If you 
write on a portfolio, you will find blotting paper fastened 
in it ; do not forget to use it. If you use a desk, have 
some blotting paper in it, and ready for use. The use of 
sand is only justifiable in business letters, where persons 
are allowed to write too rapidly, and hurry too much to 
attend to the nicer points of letter-writing. Fancy 
a lady opening a letter, and having her white dress, 
or delicate silk, or spotless gloves, deluged with black 
sand ! 

In regard to the address. Give yourself plenty of room. 
If the name is a long one, commence nearly at the left 
hand of the envelope ; write as straight as possible, and 
very legibly' — especially the name of the town or city, or 
post-office. Commence quite at the middle of the envelope, 
even for a short address ; nothing looks worse than to see 
one crowded. 

I think I have now given such directions for the ex- 



HOW TO BEHAVE. 



155 



tarsals of a letter, that, by attending to them, you can avoid 
sending off any clumsy, or tawdry looking epistles. ^ I 
shall, in another letter, give some directions for the inside, 
which I hope you will read attentively. 




CHAPTEK XXXI. 

DIRECTIONS FOR LETTER-WRITING — CONTINUED. 

I HAVE given various directions for the external por- 
tion of the epistle, It will be readily conceded by all 
that the contents of a letter are, after all, the most im- 
portant part. A person would be inclined to excuse inele- 
gancies of paper, folding, sealing, etc., if the letter re- 
vealed, within, indications of a heart and mind cultivated 
and refined ; though one who could write an elegant 
letter, would hardly be likely to forfeit his character for 
refinement by clumsy externals. 

It was once considered quite " the fashion" to com- 
mence in the middle, or below the middle of the page. 
But it is a much more sensible mode of proceeding to 
commence writing at the distance of about two inches 
from the top of the page, unless it is a formal or business 
letter, in which all that is necessary can be said in two or 
three lines. In this case, commence so as to leave the same 
distance above, as will be left below, the writing. This is a 
rule to be observed in writing notes of invitation, etc. 

When a short letter, or note, is to be written, it is cus- 



HOW TO BEHAVE. 157 

tomary and graceful to place the date at the bottom, a 
little below the signature, and on the opposite side from 
it. But in writing business or social letters, it is a better 
way to put it in the usual place, at the top of the letter. 
In a business letter, it is more convenient for reference, 
and, in a friendly letter, there is less danger that it will 
be forgotten. 

Avoid the use of figures in your letters, except in the / 
date ; they detract from the elegance of the epistle, giving 
it a business appearance. Express in words any sum you 
may have occasion to mention. 

Be extremely careful that you use capital letters eor- 
rectty, even in a familiar letter. Never write the day of 
the week, or the name of the month, without spelling it 
with a capital letter. Punctuate correctly, and use capitals 
to commence all new paragraphs and sentences ; this is 
desirable to render your letter intelligible, as well as ele- 
gant. The dash, in punctuation, is more allowable in a 
letter than in a book, still it should be used sparingly ; 
its indefiniteness renders it a favourite with young 
people, who are uncertain as to the proper punctua- 
tion. 

Do not write a letter in which various subjects are re- 
ferred to, without making new paragraphs whenever the 
subject is changed. In making paragraphs, commence 
them at the same distance from the margin that you will 
see them in a book, or in any printed matter. It is a com- 
mon fault to commence a paragraph about half way be- 



158 

tween the two margins, or nearer the right hand margin 
than the left, which is in bad taste. 

In regard to commencing the letter, in a formal man- 
ner, I would advise you to study to be as easy as possible, 
without affectation ; which by the way, is to be avoided in 
every thing about the letter, quite as much as in any 
other mode of intercourse with the world. Do not have 
any regular way of beginning, but let your feelings at the 
time, or towards the person to whom you are writing, or 
the circumstances in which you may be writing, direct 
the mode of commencing. 

Avoid too great familiarity, as well as too much for- 
mality, with your friends. Be playful, affectionate and 
frank. Use no slang phrases ; make no coarse expressions 
or allusions ; remember that the mere common-places of 
affection, sympathy and morality, add neither to the 
grace nor interest of a letter ; do not use quotations, un- 
less they are unmistakably apt ; avoid all pedantic ex- 
pressions, or foreign phrases ; be simple ; be earnest and 
true. * 

Indulge in wit or banter with judicious moderation ; 
make no extravagant expressions of admiration or affec- 
tion ; be careful how you say anything sarcastic, or bitter 
or otherwise unamiable ; for you must remember that what 
might be overlooked in conversation, as the result of 
carelessness, or might be forgotten, will be remembered 
with much greater consideration, and receives a stronger 
authority from the fact that it is written down as 



HOW TO BEHAVE. 159 

the result of one's cool and deliberate opinion. Never 
write what you would be afraid to have a third 
person see, or what }^ou would be ashamed to own or 
read again. Above all things, never icrite an anonymous 
letter, than which nothing is more cowardly and dis- 
honourable ! 

Be very respectful when writing to those older than 
yourself, particularly to your parents, who deserve so 
much honour and love. Be careful how you use harsh 
words, if you must give reproof; they will rankle long- 
after you have forgotten them, and produce bitter 
fruit. If you are writing to any one who has paid 
you any attention, or done you a favour, however slight, 
acknowledge it as gracefully as you can, and express 
in all sincerity, the gratitude you feel. It is the 
height of rudeness to write to one who has done you 
a favour and make no mention of it; no matter how 
near the relationship, or how great the familiarity be- 
tween you. 

It is considered polite, in ordinary letters of friendship, 
to write to the middle of the fourth page, leaving that 
part of the letter, which will be outside when folded, a 
blank ; but this is a mere matter of etiquette, as the en- 
velope will keep it neat, and cover all you say. In these 
days of cheap postage, it is inexcusable to write too closely, 
or to cross your letters, rendering them difficult to read. 
It is etiquette under the new postage law, to prepay your 



160 



AT HOME AND ABROAD. 



letters, unless you write to some one who particularly 
requests you not to do so. At nearly all post offices, 
there are stamps for sale, and every one should have 
them in possession and ready for use. 




CHAPTER XXXII. 

EPISTOLARY EXPERIENCES. 

I HA YE referred to my own trouble in regard to 
learning to write letters. I can assure you I have en- 
dured many mortifications and experienced more than one 
disappointment on account of my deficiencies as a letter- 
writer. Whatever the reason might be, whether because 
I thought much faster than my pen could trace the words, 
or simply because I was careless and inaccurate, I was 
continually brought into difficulty by my bad habit of 
leaving out words, and also by a wonderfully awkward 
way I had of involving my meaning in such a labyrinth 
of a sentence, that it took a great deal of guessing to un- 
derstand what I intended to say. 

Once in particular I wrote from school to my mother, 
in regard to a box of various things which she was pre- 
paring to send me. It was quite a fashion amongst the 
girls to wear broad, embroidered ruffles in the necks of 
their dresses. I was very desirous of possessing one, and 
wrote to my mother — " please send me an embroidered as 
the girls were all wearing them." 



162 

The box came early, but she stated in the letter which 
I found in it, that she could not possibly imagine what I 
so much desired. She thought of slippers, aprons, man- 
tillas, etc., but finally concluded, to settle the question by 
sending me nothing of the kind, hoping the disappointment 
would serve as a lesson to me, and make me more careful 
for the future. I remembered the lesson for along while, 
and carefully read over all my letters, to supply any 
missing words, before closing them for the mail. 

At quite an early age, I had a correspondent, who was 
five or six years my senior, and who was vastly my su- 
perior as a scholar. His letters were quite perfect; 
even now I look them over and say, " they are unexcep- 
tionable." I was proud and happy when I took the 
daintily folded, eloquently sealed epistle in my hand, and 
read my name upon it, in the most graceful characters im- 
aginable. But oh! when the time came to answer that 
letter, how troubled, mortified, entirely dissatisfied I was 
with every thing I sould do. The paper would get 
blotted, the writing was so scrawled and straggling, the 
folding so clumsy ; and the seal — that was a complete botch. 
In vain I supplied myself with fine paper, good pens, 
and vermilion wax — I could not complete an elegant 
epistle. 

T hen I fell into another mistake in getting out of the 
way of these mortifications. I practiced a delicate crow- 
quill style of writing, fair and graceful to behold, but 
utterly illegible ; my dearest friends grew discouraged and 



HOW TO BEHAVE. 163 

hesitated to forgive such impositions, and, when the 
printers looked at it, they could not restrain their wrath. 
Many times, with tears of vexation in my eyes, I was 
ready to declare I never would write another line, unless 
compelled to do so. I speak from a sober, yes, bitter ex- 
perience therefore, when I beg my young friends to take 
pains with their chirography and learn to write legible, 
elegant letters. 

I have a friend who was distinguished at school, for 
her pure and accurate style of writing. There were no 
erasures, no interlineations, no equivocally written words 
in her manuscript. She also excelled as a mathematician. 
Now see what she could do for others — what good this 
real accomplishment enabled her to perform. Her hus- 
band's health failed, and it was thought he must give up 
an important and lucrative office which he held, being 
quite unable to attend to its duties. But time passed on, 
and he still retained it. The business was carefully and 
faithfully done. The business letters were models in their 
way ; so pointed, legible, prompt, and neatly written. 
The books of the institution were kept accurately and 
quite elegantly. There were no blunders made in calcula- 
tions, no mistakes of my kind. Such a secretary was 
seldom seen, and again and again, the society expressed 
its satisfaction. 

By and by, the gentleman having recovered his health 
resumed his duties ; and then, for the first time, it was 
known that his excellent and accomplished wife had trans- 



164 AT HOME AND 

acted his business for him for eighteen months. Was 
she not a treasure? 

It is no reason for not attending to this subject that you 
may never expect to write for the printer, and no excuse 
for a slovenly style that only your friends will see it. An 
ill written letter shows as much want of respect for your 
friends, and a lack of self respect too, as a carelessly 
arranged, untidy dress. A lady, or gentleman should 
avoid both, to be truly consistent in character. 

Let me give you a caution here against another ex- 
treme, which is to be avoided. Be careful how you give 
your letters, or manuscript of any kind, a stiff or cramped 
appearance, by too great attention to accuracy. A run- 
ning hand, when easily read, is by far the most pleasant, 
as it is the most beautiful for ladies. 

Gentlemen are generally, now, avoiding the huge capi- 
tals and great flourishes, which were once esteemed so 
admirable. Such things are airs and affectations, as unbe- 
coming in a letter as huge bows to their cravats, or gaudy 
colours in their dresses. It is not beneath a man to bestow 
some care and thought on the elegance of his letters, as well 
as on their distinctness and aptness of style and character. 
I have a friend who has a certain degree of fastidiousness 
in his tastes, and who could not be prevailed upon, even in 
these days, to use a self- sealing envelope. While travel- 
ing recently in a remote and almost barbarous section of 
the country, his epistles to his friends wqre still marked 
by the fine taste which characterizes all he does. They 



HOW TO BEHAVE. 165 

were neat in appearance, graceful in style, and invariably 
sealed -with the finest wax, stamped with his initials. Yet : 
I will venture to say, he expended no more time 01 
thought over those letters than was perfectly proper in 
the hurried or incommoded tourist. He had become ac- 
customed to elegant letters, and he could not write or dis- 
patch any other kind. 

Grant me one word in conclusion, my young friends. 
I have tried to give you hints on politeness in all cir- \ 
cumstances ; and I want to impress upon you this truth — 
you must be habitually polite, or you may as well cease to 
be ladies or gentlemen. There is always an awkwardness 
in our manner of performing occasional actions ; there will 
be times of forgetfulness, when, if you have not the habit 
of true politeness, you will be ready to forfeit your claim 
to these coveted titles. 

To ensure the formation of the habit, the impulse 
which prompts it must be genuine and from the heart. 
Learn to feel kindly to all; to respect all goodness and 
virtue ; to honour age, and " love your neighbour as your- 
self;" thus will you learn " how to behave, both at 



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